Silver Shadows
by RaindropSoup
Summary: Post-TFH. Steeped in shadows and silver linings, history is changing and in the making. In their struggle to find a way back to each other, Sydney and Adrian will have to decide: be together or stay apart for the greater good.
1. Chapter 1 — Adrian

******FULL SUMMARY:** Post-TFH. Fighting to keep their sanity and the other alive, Sydney and Adrian must balance on the fine line between truth and lies. While the center might hold, the foundations of both their people are rocked in the search to duplicate the Strigoi vaccine. Views become skewed. Bloodlines are revealed. Bonds are forged and tested. Steeped in shadows and silver linings, history is changing and in the making. **In the struggle to find a way back to each other, Sydney and Adrian will have to decide: be together or stay apart for the greater good. And with his personal demons rearing and her memories disappearing, the choice might be made for them.**

The _Vampire Academy_ and _Bloodlines_ series belong to Richelle Mead. I do not know and am in no way associated with the author. All other publicly recognizable details belong to the original owners. Copyright infringement is not intended.

The following fan fic is for entertainment purposes only. Although titled after the next installment of the _Bloodlines _series, it is not the real sequel to _The Fiery Heart_ or even an attempt at the series' direction. It is simply from my own imagination and whims, born from a need to continue living in Ms. Mead's world. While I've done my best to stay true to her characters, plot, and story details along with myth and history, I might have gotten something wrong—or just thumbed my nose and took liberties. You can dropkick me for it and the fact this isn't edited. But I wish you wouldn't. I bruise easily.

Find the link to Adrian's playlist on my profile. Songs will be added once the chapters are posted.

Content warning: Series spoilers, mild language, brief violence, and _mentions_ of torture, self-harm, and drugs.

**Reviews are magic and appreciated.**

* * *

**SILVER SHADOWS**

**Part One: The Spiral of Silence**

* * *

_There are some qualities—some incorporate things,  
__That have a double life, which thus is made  
__A type of that twin entity which springs  
__From matter and light, evinced in solid and shade.  
__There is a two-fold _Silence_—sea and shore—  
__Body and soul. One dwells in lonely places,  
__Newly with grass o'ergrown; some solemn graces,  
__Some human memories and tearful lore,  
__Render him terrorless: his name's "No More."_

— From Edgar Allen Poe's _Sonnet—Silence_

* * *

**Chapter One**

**Adrian**

"How I wish, how I wish you were here," I sang softly and horribly off tune in to the air, _Pink Floyd_'s words reverberating in my head. Though the album had stopped playing an hour ago, the static of the still spinning record echoed in the space. "We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl."

A fish bowl of oblivion. And as much as I was already living in it, I wished I could sink deeper into its dark emptiness and silence.

Instead, I was all too aware of laying in my living room, cushioned by a shaggy secondhand rug. Homebound traffic thrummed with the occasional honk outside my windows, and the setting sun swashed my yellow-painted wall with brilliant color. Twilight, my kind the Moroi's favorite time of the evening, marked the end of another day since Sydney's capture by her own people, the Alchemists.

Nearly six weeks had passed since the organization had discovered she was in a relationship with what they considered was an evil creature of the night. Over six weeks since she and I had eaten her birthday dinner on the exact spot I lay, where she had laughed and wiped peppermint frosting from the corner of my mouth just before I leaned in to kiss her. Candlelight had played softly against her blonde hair and reflected in her amber eyes, creating an exquisite picture, but nothing was more beautiful and stunning than her full-blown smile and her saying she loved me. A smile that hardly anyone saw, and words that she had never said to any other man but me. _Me._

An ache weighed on my chest, making it hard to breathe. Then, and now. Yet also, like that moment, the memory soothed. She was real. _We_ were. We weren't a dream, but one realized and come true. Sometimes, I wasn't sure. In these rare instances of clarity, I was. I needed to be. Sydney needed me to be.

Groaning, I stood up and avoided looking at scattered blank canvases and the stocked liquor cabinet. The lure of alcohol was bottomless, never-ending and tempting, but not quite as deep as the desperation to find the light of my life.

I patted my pockets, searching for my keys and reaching for my cell. I silenced it just as the alarm sounded. Striding to the door and grabbing a light jacket, I headed out and thought of how Sydney would be proud of not only my punctuality but also of my planning ahead and gaining an internal clock. My aunt, the late Moroi queen, would have teased me for trying to be responsible, but I knew she would have been proud too, if not also a little suspicious of the cause or motive.

_No, don't think of her. _

I didn't want her making an appearance tonight, and I couldn't think of them together. Aunt Tatiana was dead. Sydney was alive. She wouldn't share the same fate, not if I had anything to do about it and definitely not anytime soon. Marcus Finch, a former Alchemist and the Robin Hood to its wayward members, assured me as much. The Thought Police would try to "reeducate" her, not kill her.

I grimaced at what that could mean but quickly pushed aside the thoughts.

My phone rang, thankfully pulling me away further from ideas of coercion as I reached the Ivashkinator and settled into the 1967 Mustang, the outside gleaming and the interior clean in case we found Sydney at any moment. She loved the classic car, maybe as much as she loved me. No matter what condition we found her in, she would ask about the hunk of metal she had named. I wouldn't disappoint her, and like with everything Sydney cared about, I did too.

I closed the door and started the ignition before answering my cell without a glance at the caller I.D., expecting it showed an unregistered number.

"Tell me you have news, Marcus."

He groaned then growled. "You did not just answer that way. Wasn't it that kind of carelessness that got everyone in to this mess?"

The air in my lungs expelled in a rush. No matter what precautions Sydney and I had taken to hide our relationship by having an extra pair of phones, losing one with texts between us had changed our lives for the worst. I had been careless to not check for mine before getting out of her car the night of her birthday, only for her sister Zoe to find it and turn Sydney in to their people.

The reminder was a punch to the gut, but Marcus was right. It was my fault Sydney was caught, and I should be more careful. I wasn't about to admit either to him, though, and stayed silent.

"Man, I'm sorry." He exhaled heavily. "I shouldn't have said that. I'm just frustrated."

My shoulders drooped. "No news then." I expected as much. Still, I had hoped.

"None," he confirmed. "I've got an couple plans in motion, but …"

"But they'll need time before we get answers." I pulled out of the parking lot. Tucking the phone between my cheek and shoulder, I shifted gears and headed toward Vista Azul. "And they're risky and your last resort." Also meaning his last options, that he'd run out of ideas.

"Yeah."

"I don't suppose you'll tell me what those plans are?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"Nope. The less you know of those, the better."

"Well, thanks for the update." My tone was dry, but I meant the words, and Marcus had learned to ignore my attitude. He chuckled in that way of his when things weren't really that funny.

"Of course. I figured you'd try to contact me tonight anyway, but I ditched the last burner phone. _Don't_ call it. And stop saying my name out in the open."

"Speaking of safety and caution." I changed lanes, receiving a honk and a finger from the man I cut off. "You need to switch up the calling times a bit more. You're becoming predictable."

A scary thought. The man was actually dependable and no longer surprised me. He'd call every few days for my updates and with any Alchemist rumor or clue to run by me. Grudgingly, I had begun to trust him, something Sydney might be happy to hear. But with him on the run as the Alchemists' Most Wanted and being one of my very limited avenues to finding Sydney, no one could afford for Marcus to be caught because he slipped or lost his edge.

He guffawed. "All right. _You_ just be sure to stay predictable."

"That's the plan."

And so far an easy one, at that. These days without Sydney and mood stabilizing pills, only drinking, smoking, and partying—well, maybe not so much the last—helped me cope with crippling emotions and the destructive effects of spirit, the rare magic element I could wield. But most importantly, my once old vices and behavior masked my true feelings and intentions. If the Alchemists were keeping tabs on me—which, undoubtedly, they were—they couldn't suspect that I, or any of else, was looking for her. They needed to believe I'd moved on and wasn't a threat to them or Sydney's "recovery."

Marcus grunted. "Good. I have to go out of state for a few new recruits. I'll call you in a couple weeks. When you least expect it," he added, making me snort. "Or when I get word."

The line clicked, and I let the phone drop in to my lap.

_When._ He'd said "when," not "if." Gotta love the guy for his faith.

I wished I had more.

I shook off the pitiful thought. Amberwood Prep had come into view. The secluded private high school in Palm Springs was home to Jill Mastrano Dragomir, my best friend and the only living family to Lissa Dragomir, our young Moroi queen.

After an assassination that would've have been successful if not for me using the magical element of spirit to bring Jill back from the dead and thus bonding her to me, she—along with a band of stake-wielding misfits who were more family than mere friends—was whisked away to hide. No Moroi, the living vampires, or Strigoi, the undead vampires, of our secret existence would expect Jill to be in the sunny SoCal location of higher education for humans.

Seeing her standing near the curb in front of her dorm, her wavy, light brown hair blowing around her, I could feel my chest lighten but then tighten. Her face was paler than usual, and dark circles ringed her eyes. I was wrong before. Besides imbibing, Jill literally and figuratively could keep the spiritual darkness at bay by pulling it from me. For her sake, not only Sydney's, I could tone down my depression and self-medicating.

Plastering on a smile, I pulled up in front of her and leaned over to pop open the passenger door. "Hey, Jailbait."

She eased onto the seat and squeezed my arm. "Hey."

Okay, so I wasn't fooling her.

She offered me a small smile and shook her head.

I loved her, but damn the bond.

Her smile grew. She chuckled softly as she turned to close her door. A hand stopped it, and that pretty smile slipped when the guardian—or her shadow, I should say—bent over and his face came into view.

Eddie Castile. A dhampir, he was half-Moroi. With the exception of having an affinity of an element, he had all my kind's supernatural strengths but none of our weaknesses. With quicker reflexes, heightened agility, and better endurance, dhampirs protected the Moroi. Add that Eddie was extremely dedicated and in love Jill and, well, no one—human, Moroi, or Strigoi—would hurt her.

By the look on Jill's face, I knew—he was the exception. She had kissed him weeks ago, much to his shock. But despite her returning his strong feelings, he still needed "time" to think about their relationship, what our society would consider taboo. Maybe not as bad compared to Sydney and me, a human and Moroi, but bad enough. Moroi and dhampirs had the occasional fling to ensure the continuation of both races, but a serious relationship was unusual and distasteful. A _male_ dhampir and a _female _Moroi and the fact she was royalty? Completely scandalous. While I didn't believe that was enough to deter the ever-determined Castile, I knew duty was.

"Going somewhere?" he asked with a raised brow.

She smiled tightly. "Just waiting for you."

I covered my laugh with a cough and hid my first real smile of the day. Eddie didn't even try.

With what sounded like a growl, Jill stepped out and snapped the seat forward. Normally, when Eddie accompanied us, he sat passenger in my two-door car, but he made no protest today. The six-foot-plus guardian folded himself in to the back, narrowly missing the seat as Jill flipped it into place, sat down with a huff, and slammed the door.

"Whew." I studied the pair. Yesterday, they were fine, even a little cozy, at the home of Clarence Donahue, a Moroi whom was perfectly out of touch with society—and in the mind—but allowed Jill and me the chance to use his feeder twice a week. What the hell had happened since then?

A glare, jade green identical to Lissa's, was my answer.

"Okay …" Maybe I didn't want to know. "Seat belts, children."

A coffee shop pit stop and fifteen minutes of strained silence on the road later, and I changed my mind.

"Adrian, don't," murmured Jill.

I sighed and shook my head. "I'm sorry, but I can't." I glanced at her and then in the rearview mirror at Eddie. "What happened? Why the cold shoulders?"

No answer.

"Do either of you have any idea what I would give to have Sydney next to me?" I parked in front of Wolfe School of Defense, my hands clenched around the steering wheel. "To have her safe? To have _time—_or even the chance? And you're both wasting it!"

Nothing. Not a peep.

I gritted my teeth and stared ahead. Malachi Wolfe, owner of the training center Sydney and I had once attended, stepped out of his dilapidated home adjacent to the facility, followed by Jaclyn Terwilliger, Sydney's history teacher. She smiled and waved at us as Wolfe wrapped an arm around her and whispered in her ear, making her blush.

Who would have known the eye-patch-wearing, tale-spinning ex-Marine and the hippy caffeine addict could be so good together? Sydney and I hadn't. We'd been floored when they'd started dating. Sometimes, they still baffled me, but it was nice to see an unlikely pair so happy together, caring for one another unconditionally and shrugging off what others thought.

If only the two stubborn imbeciles in the car with me could do so.

I scrubbed a hand down my face, so bone and soul weary—and afraid. Afraid of what would or wouldn't happen tonight. Afraid for Sydney and myself. Without her, I didn't know what to do and what would happen to me. The hole carved in my chest gaped wider with each passing day, until there would be nothing left.

I could help those who mattered the world to us and were here now, relatively safe, though.

I removed my keys and opened the door. "I'm going inside to find the love of my life or, at the very least, a way to. Hopefully. Do _not_ follow me until you two talk. Get over whatever has you angry." My glare met Jill's glistening eyes before I threw it at Eddie. "Or you holding back. _Decide. Man-up._"

Jaw clenched, he gave me a curt nod, letting me know he recognized the words he had emphasized on me (with a couple timed shoves) a few weeks ago so I could get my act together in some semblance of control.

I squeezed Jill's hand. Quickly, before I really lost it, I scooped up the whole bean French roast, stepped out, and shut the door. Placing the bag on the roof of my car, I reached for a cigarette and noted my hands were shaking.

Damn. It had only been a few hours since my last. I was already losing a grip. And although the tension in my body eased with the first drag, I winced. After a couple months of successfully quitting, I'd lost my taste for smoking and was worried how disappointed Sydney would be. But circumstances and old habits and all that.

No doubt noticing I needed a moment, Jackie gestured toward Wolfe's training center. I nodded my thanks and watched as she dragged him to the building.

Following them slowly across the gravel parking lot, I took in the surroundings in my periphery. A few junk cars lined the street dotted with lights, but no one seemed to be hanging around the compound. Nonetheless, for anyone watching, I deeply inhaled clove nicotine before stomping it out and swigging from the empty flask I pulled from my jacket. I stumbled around too, though I didn't have to fake the slightly hysterical laugh that bubbled out.

God, how had I ever survived like this when it was real? And how could anyone believe it now? I had been driving—with Jill in the car! As if I'd ever endanger her. Drunk drivers … Talk about evil creatures of the night. I hoped any spying Alchemists were getting their fill of my show, because they could suck it.

"Adrian?"

I stopped chuckling and looked up. I was inside the training room. Mats and dummies sectioned the garage that was more like a small warehouse. Weapons, from knives to nun chucks, crossbows to wicked-looking spears, along with all types of pads and protective gear, hung on the walls. One side was partially taken up with mirrors. And Jackie, with a hand above my elbow, stood in front of me, studying me worriedly.

As well as being a history teacher, Jackie was a witch and Sydney's mentor in the arcane trade. She'd recognized my girl's untapped power and natural talent. After great reluctance and overcoming ingrained beliefs that magic of any kind was evil, Sydney embraced it—something else the Alchemists would torture her for if they ever learned of it.

But besides being in the same coven and sharing a love for history, caffeine, and everything near the Mediterranean, teacher and pupil had grown close. Tirelessly, Jackie was trying every spell she could to locate Sydney. I loved her for it. More than that, I never once felt she judged Sydney and me and our relationship.

"Hey." I gave an awkward smile and handed her my offering. "Sorry it's not brewed bean, but I know you can't have caffeine before spelling. How's it going, Jackie?"

"Fine." Her gaze searched my eyes, a ton of questions reflecting in her own. She frowned before finally settling on: "How are you sleeping? I can give you an herbal tea, you know, to help."

I made a face.

She laughed and patted my arm. "All right, but you let me know if you change your mind."

"Will do." _Though not likely._ I glanced around. "Where's your beau?"

"Moving the rest of my tools to the backroom." Turning away and walking in that direction, she didn't question why I had asked her if we could meet at Wolfe's instead of her house. I was thankful. I didn't want to scare or worry her more. But I think she knew.

We weren't underestimating the Alchemists. I needed a reason and a buffer for having any contact with someone connected to Sydney, especially since Jill insisted on tagging along. She, with Jackie's Wolfe, actually provided the cover, flimsy as it was. The Princess was learning self-defense—if she and her guardian could get over themselves and come inside, and hopefully soon or all our planning and sneaking around wouldn't matter.

Jackie, ever the intuitive woman, asked, "So, Jill's getting a lesson in love tonight, huh?"

"Ha! Her and Eddie."

"Yes, well …" she hooked an arm through mine "… true love is always a tumultuous journey. Worth all the trouble, of course—and it endures a lot. But it does endure."

Jackie didn't say it, but I heard it.

_Centrum permanebit. _

Sydney's message to me before the Alchemists took her away, given through Eddie because he was the only one of us who had been there, and translated by Jackie because it was Latin. Although Jackie's full translation with "endures" or even "remains" was off, the message was clear. But while those were pretty variations and sounded everlasting, I preferred the words Sydney and I had quoted before from a William Morris poem. They meant infinitely more.

_The center will hold._

I didn't say anything, nor could I look at her, but I wrapped an arm around Jackie's shoulders and squeezed.

As we entered the backroom, Wolfe peeked over a stack of boxes. "You hitting on my woman?"

It hurt to do so, but I smiled. "Just appreciating."

"You do that." He grunted and dropped the boxes next to a solid wood worktable. Straightening, he narrowed his one eye—which I was sure had the patch over it yesterday—and pointed at me. "And only that."

My lips twitched. I nodded as solemnly as I could. Jackie gave him a fond look before her glittering eyes turned to me. Our mirth, what little we had, evaporated.

The moment of truth. Would we connect with Sydney tonight or get only blackness as we had been?

"We'll find her, Adrian."

I nodded but wasn't so sure.

Kissing Wolfe on the cheek, Jackie handed him the coffee and silently began unpacking what she needed to scry.

Wolfe looked at the label on the bag. "Oh good. The chihuahuas love whole bean French Roast." I knew that. Sydney had told me the bizarre tidbit about Wolfe's eleven tiny monsters.

"C'mon, pretty boy." Wolfe beckoned me with a hand, obviously knowing Jackie needed to be alone. "I brought a futon in to the next room for you. Jaclyn wanted you to be comfortable, though I don't why. I once had to meditate on a bed of coals under the scorching African sun to commune with a medicine man, who in turn would tell me a women's name. Like Wanjiru the Maiden, she would need to be found, bought from her family, and sacrificed to bring rain."

My brows shot up. Although I wasn't surprised Wolfe had another crackpot tale, the ridiculousness always shocked me, this one even more so because of how close he had hit home. Did Jackie tell him about our situation and what I was about to do? As far as I was aware, Wolfe didn't know about the Alchemists or my kind and specific ability. I wasn't exactly meditating, but the state of walking through others' dreams did seem trance-like to those witnessing from the outside.

Even eerier, Sydney would have to be rescued from her "family" or she'd be sacrificed for the "greater good." Granted, it wouldn't be with her life—which I still couldn't quite believe—but it would be everything that made her Sydney. Her spirit and individuality, her fiery heart, her thirst for knowledge and will do what was right. All that I loved about her would be gone, more the longer the Alchemists had her.

I swallowed and asked Wolfe, "Did it rain?"

"Not because of me. I wasn't really part of the tribe and never got a name." He crossed his arms and shrugged. "But it did rain. It flooded, actually. People died, though later many rejoiced. They had a bounty in crops." He stared at me, expression … intense and unexplainable. I shivered. Wolfe shook himself, slapped me on the shoulder, and squeezed. "I'll wait by the front for the lovebirds to come inside. Don't holler if you need anything."

I snorted, but my insides trembled. I wasn't ready to let go of Sydney, for anyone. Ever.

From my pocket, I took out another dependence of sorts, my only companion and tangible connection to Sydney—Hopper, a callistana she once brought to our realm through a spell and that was now trapped in his inert form without her. A serpent dragon similar to the Chinese rather than the European kind, he was protective and yet more of our baby than a bodyguard or helper. My fingers worried across his hard scales, which had lost some of their gold luster, his beady eyes also less pleading and anxious than yesterday. He wasn't going to last a year this way.

"Don't give up yet, buddy."

Petting Hopper despite that he was a figurine, I sat on Wolfe's plaid futon, the only other item in the small room besides a metal desk with a matching chair. A few moments later, an echo of a closing door and multiple footsteps indicated Jill and Eddie came inside. All was quiet afterward.

Taking a deep breath, I leaned back and summoned a bit of spirit. The element brought the familiar rush of joy and life but, like both, fleeting as I pushed my mind to reach for Sydney's and encountered black.

Then suddenly, the void shifted from impenetrable shadows to mist, thinning to reveal a shape with a familiar but erratic aura.

My breath caught before I ran. "Sydney!"


	2. Chapter 2 — Sydney

...

**Chapter Two**

**Sydney**

It was ironic. For all the Alchemists' talk of walking in the light, they made me despise the lights. In the darkness, I could almost forget about my twelve-by-eight cell, about how people were on the outside watching in, studying me and my every move, reciting beliefs I once had while pushing a blind mindset I never would.

But as soon as the fluorescent lights flickered on, anxiety bloomed, anger and frustration welled up, and a hopelessness that was beginning to become harder to beat back crept over me. Worse was when the Alchemists amped the intensity, blinding and overheating me, before they pressure hosed me with frigid water and turned on the air conditioning.

There was no set schedule, no warning or indication of when the Alchemists would make their presence known. Only the method of irregularity and deprivation was expected. Tried and true tactics to breaking someone.

I couldn't tell whether it was night or day. I couldn't count on the rare, sporadic food delivery or my pulse that thumped in my ears alone to calculate the span of time. I might know every inch of my cell, but neither sound nor light leaked in from beyond the cement walls. Like the Alchemists wanted, I didn't know what was happening and couldn't anticipate what would. It was driving me up the wall. At least, it used to.

I was becoming untethered to space and time, to reality. More often, my body, too heavy from exhaustion, hunger, and extreme conditions, would sink as my head floated away blankly. That and the fact I didn't care how stripped bare I was in every way for all to see as the lights blinked on should worry me. But neither did at the moment. And what did that say?

Thirty heartbeats, and the synthesized voice didn't reverberate throughout the brightly room. They must be trying the depersonalization approach again, wanting me to watch myself through a one-sided mirror and see my dire circumstances and having no control over the situation.

Well, this once, I wouldn't indulge them.

I let myself be drifted away, too tired after the stress from their latest brainwashing video, with its strobing lights and images, the subliminal messages and hypocritical words that still burned behind my closed eyelids. The first few times weren't so bad. A roaring headache, and a snort or laugh at times, had been the usual result. Once, I had vomited. They had left me in that room and wouldn't let me shower for who knew how long.

But the last session … it was mind numbing. And now, with the lights on, they wanted me to see the effect.

No, thanks. If no one was going to speak or force me to get up, I was getting as much sleep as I could, even if it was mere minutes. The sweet whooshing of my heartbeat, reminding me I was alive, began to lull me. My breathing slowed. My limbs grew more lax.

Then a whisper, seemingly far away, made me tense. I tried not to react, not wanting the Alchemists to see, but my muscles bunched. My breaths came quicker.

"Sydney."

I squeezed my eyes shut tighter. The timbre of Adrian's voice was captured so perfectly it hurt. How did the Alchemists do it? What were they planning?

"Sydney!"

I hugged myself, my body curling in on itself as my heart threatened to spill out of my chest. I'd longed to hear him, if only to help keep me strong. How cruel—or maybe it was a blessing—that I finally would on the worst of days. Maybe I was going crazy? Or was this just a wonderful dream, one I ached for?

I gasped at the thought. My eyes snapped open. I flinched and shut them quickly. The colors, even the gray, were so bright compared to my cell that it was hard to believe they could exist. Blinking and squinting, I realized I was upright rather than on my side on a freezing floor.

I spun around. The scenery flickered then shifted. My cell, which seemed bigger than I remembered, stretched outward and dissipated. A night sky unfurled with stars and a full moon, and the desert landscape expanded farther than anyone could see.

"Adrian?" _A croak?_ I shook my head and cleared my throat. "Adrian." Better, louder, but not much. What was going on? Spirit dreams had never reflected real life if we didn't want them to, and I definitely didn't.

"Sydney?"

I turned. The face I knew as well as my own filled my vision, but also different. Chestnut hair, normally tousled to perfection, was beyond mussed and dull. Creamy pale skin, now with a sallow tinge, stretched across his still handsome features. But slashes of dark brows were drawn together. Emerald-green eyes shone with pain, not happiness or amusement, as they took me in. No ready smile or smirk either, but a grimace.

"Oh, Sage."

I looked down and noticed I was naked. Embarrassment and shame choked me. "I don't understand." I tried harder to summon clothes but couldn't. My eyes watered. I struggled to cover myself with my hands. "I can't—"

"Shh, baby. I got it." Adrian reached out to me.

I stepped back. "Don't touch me!"

The haze in my brain and the joy from seeing him had cleared. I couldn't be sure the dream was a dream at all. The Alchemists could have conjured him to break me, test me. The rules and dynamics seemed different from Adrian's spirit dreams, and it had been so long since we'd shared one that I couldn't remember the feel. Even if I could, I would question if it were genuine.

But then pressed jeans and a familiar purple shirt—with a silver heart on fire and an "AYE" that Adrian had painted when we had crashed a sorority party—came into focus and brushed against my skin. Hopper appeared on top of a rock, lazing next to a half-eaten slice of pecan pie, and I recognized the area was exactly where I had practiced spells with Ms. Terwilliger. Lone Rock Park.

The spirit dream was real. Adrian and I were, and we were here together.

I threw myself at him, twining my fingers in his hair as he caught me. My feet dangled while I embraced him with all my might, and suddenly, I was floating. Weightlessness took over. Pressures and burdens seemingly seeped away.

Adrian's hands fisted my shirt, his knuckles digging into my back as he squeezed me closer. With faces buried in each other's necks, our bodies shook. I inhaled, sure that I could smell his deodorant and clove cigarettes against his skin but not caring.

Pulling back at the same, we locked eyes before we dove in and kissed, our lips silently saying, _I love you. I love you. I love you_, with each stroke of tongue and as our teeth knocked together clumsily. Deep intakes for breath revealed mutual need to breathe in the other and how hard was and had been. Our wet faces showed we could live without each other, but neither of us wanted to.

"I'm sorry," I whispered against his mouth. "I tho—"

He silenced me with another kiss. Sweet, soft, chaste, but no less perfect. "I get it. You couldn't be sure."

I nodded. "I've read there are Moroi who can make people see things. The Alchemists have unlimited resources and are wrong on so many levels, but our—_their_ records aren't."

"No," he said, searching my eyes, "their records aren't wrong."

Loosening his grip, he let me go. As my feet planted on the floor, he caressed my cheeks, drying them while seeming to revel in the feel and memorize it. His gaze was distant, worried and turned inward. The lack of a witty remark was so unlike him that my nervousness reared.

Although I was scared of the answer, I asked, "How long …?"

Adrian understood but hesitated.

I reached up and squeezed his wrists. "And don't lie."

He sighed. "Forty–three days."

I swallowed. _Not long_, _but long enough._ "Okay, so not too bad."

"Not too bad?" He barked out a harsh laugh. "As soon as I was pulled in the dream, I let you control it. I got a glimpse of your cell before I quickly took over and changed the scenery." He leaned down, and his eyes burned green flames. "You were naked. In the real world, you _are_ naked."

"It must be the drugs. They make me tired." I didn't dare say I wasn't drugged at the moment or acknowledge what he'd said. That didn't escape him. Adrian gave me a flat look.

"You're mentally exhausted." He dragged a hand through his hair before tugging on it with two fists. "And who knows what else."

I raised my chin. "But I'm fine."

"Don't do that, Sydney."

I didn't reply, didn't know how. This wasn't the happy reunion I envisioned.

"I'm sorry." Adrian exhaled and reached for me. His forehead rested against mine. "I just … You're strong, so strong. But you don't always have to be, not with me. You know that, right?"

"I do." But I wouldn't break down. Forty-three days, and I hadn't yet. I wasn't about to start, not with him or the Alchemists.

He enveloped me in his arms, tucking my head under his chin, warm and strengthening. "I know you don't want to hear this, but you should know we're all looking for you." I tensed, though I didn't really expect any less of my friends. I tried to pull back and speak. He squeezed and shushed me. "Jackie and your coven. Marcus and his Merry Men. Lissa also made inquires with the Alchemists, getting no real explanations, of course. Don't worry—I didn't tell her anything. Just asked what she could find out."

I nodded, relieved that at least he wasn't under the scrutiny of his own people.

Adrian kissed my temple. "We have a plan—multiple plans." He kissed my cheek and brought his hands to my shoulders, rubbing them. "I finally reached you tonight, which means Jackie should be able to locate you." He pulled back a little. "You don't know where you are? Any idea or clue?"

I shook my head.

Kissing the corner of my jaw, he hummed. "I didn't think so. The Alchemists are nothing if not thorough, and it would have been the first thing you told me—because you know we're looking." His fingers slowly grazed down my arms until his hands held my own. "We'll find you, Sydney. We won't give up. _I _won't."

My chest split open. A sob caught in my throat. I cupped his face in my hands, bringing it level with mine. "I know. And I won't either."

I couldn't catch the look in eyes before he shut them, but it wasn't good. He bit his lip, and his chin trembled. Then just as quickly, like it was simply a blink, beautiful green eyes peered at me, and he gave a small, charming smile. "_Centrum_ _perminibit_."

His pronunciation off, I laughed and repeated, correctly, "_Centrum permanebit._"

He chuckled, the bashful look on his face so adorable and endearing. I loved it. Loved him. Even more because I was sure he botched the word on purpose.

"Escape plan twenty-one," he murmured. "We open a small exotic zoo in Brazil. You teach the animals the Romance languages. I teach them to draw caricatures of the customers."

I smiled, warmed that Adrian's escape plans hadn't changed. They were of us, our lives together after getting away from our societies that would never accept us as a couple. They were silly, and it was sillier that I ached for them and not rescue plans. But I needed hope, an escape, not a reminder of reality.

Standing on my tiptoes, I brushed my lips against his.

Before it could become deeper, the telltale shimmer of waking up had us gripping for one another. Our mouths pressed hard together in a bruising degree I wanted, if only to imprint him on me. Tears sprung that I didn't want and couldn't control. I imagined they tasted bittersweet. The connection today was a small victory but not the end in the fight of being separated.

Adrian broke away first, his hands clutching my face and a fierceness in his eyes. "We'll find you. We will. Just hold on." He kissed me again, once, twice. "Give them what them want. Make it easier for you. Fake it if you have to. But even if they succeed, I will _never _give up on you." His voice shook. "I'll never, ever give you up."

I couldn't breathe I was so panicked, but managed to gasp out, "I love you."

"I love you." He, along with the desert and open sky, faded almost completely. "If anyone can make it through this, it's you."

Bleak blackness surrounded me before consciousness closed in. I tried to keep my breathing steady and to seem outwardly calm. The sudden absence of Adrian, though, was too much. Despair rocked through me. I could feel tears pooled under my cheek on the hard, cold floor where I lay on my side, shaking. Sharp, heavy breaths ricocheted in my cell, as loud and deafening to my ears as my pulse.

And my neck tingled from the eyes that were no doubt watching.

"Hello, Sydney."

I wiped my face but didn't reply. There was no use in pretending I was asleep, and they didn't need a greeting to continue.

"I see you have had some much needed sleep. You dreamed, after all. Was it nice, or was it a nightmare?" The tone, while synthesized to mask the female speaker, sounded … taunting. Chills skittered down my spine. "Tell us, Sydney. We want to know. How does being visited by an unnatural creature, even in your dreams, make you feel?"

I didn't dare move or blink or breathe.

"Yes, we know about that … _boy's _ability. We do have the best records in history. We know all about the spirit users, as the Moroi call them, and their dark gifts."

My stomach plummeted. I hadn't anticipated the Alchemists would use the information to their advantage, that they would _plan_ on Adrian visiting me. But I should have known as soon as they stopped medicating me.

I sat and curled up with my back against the wall. Hiding my face with my hair and knees, I considered my words carefully. "Those dark gifts, as you call them, have transformed Strigoi to their original beings. That … that can't be too bad."

There, that sounded plaintive enough, especially with my voice scratchy and feeble from disuse. Inside, though, I was screaming in rage and fear. My mind whirled with real escape plans, possibilities of the next "treatment," what the Alchemists would do to Adrian and my friends, how they would use them against me. The threat went unsaid, but it was clear.

"Moroi, Strigoi, dhampir," the voice started, "they are all part of the unholy and twisted. You have been deceived, Sydney, and so stained with their darkness. It must be purged. You must be cleansed. We can help you, bring you back to the light and its righteousness."

"I—" I shook my head.

Could I play the organization's game, appease them and somehow give in without actually doing so? Fake it, like Adrian said? I didn't think I could. I'd been fighting them for so long. Would they even believe me? And if they did, how long before I began believing in the lies myself?

And that wasn't taking into account the Alchemist tattoo with stronger compulsion for obedience and group loyalty that they were sure to give me. I was surprised they hadn't already. The rebel ink I had made Marcus to break the compulsion without a visible trace might work if I ever escaped, but I doubted it. Different factors called for different measures.

I couldn't let the Alchemists hurt the people I loved, though. I couldn't let them win, either.

Lifting my head, I let my panic show for the first time, my eyes glancing around the room frantically, my chest heaving.

"It's all right, Sydney. Being reborn is not easy. You have been greatly corrupted. But the path to purity and redemption is within your reach. You need only confess. Start small. Say, 'I am sick and have sinned against my own kind.' "

I swallowed. My tongue felt thick. I prayed I was doing the right thing and wouldn't regret it—that I would even have the chance to, because if I didn't, it would be too late and I wouldn't know any better. I took a gulping breath and opened my mouth to repeat the words.

Only, I couldn't.


	3. Chapter 3 — Adrian

_* Much love to spaztronaut and rainy (nice name, by the way ;D) for the reviews. Also, while I have 45K written, which is a little less than half that I'm anticipating for this fic, I mean to pace myself with updates so I can finish writing the story without readers waiting too long between chapters. I just couldn't help myself this time around, though. The fun finally begins. Hope you enjoy. *lights off*_

* * *

**Chapter Three**

**Adrian**

As soon as the dream dissolved, my eyes flew open. I sat up. The door to Jackie was still closed, and I didn't dare disturb her. Gripping Hopper, I raised him to my face. "I talked to her, buddy. We're going to get her back. We will." Maybe it was just me, but I thought there was a glimmer of hope in those gold peepers.

Feeling as if a weight had been lifted, I sighed and closed my eyes. The image of Sydney painfully nude, too damn pale and skinny, with a look of pure panic that I had never seen on her face before came to mind first. I quickly pushed it aside and recalled the sensation of her in my arms, her body and lips pressed to mine. I regretted how the dream had started, but I got her to laugh near the end. She knew I loved her, had faith her, and wouldn't give up. For now, that was enough.

I sprang to my feet and toward the main room, flinging open the door. Jill stood on the other side, tears in her eyes. She threw her arms around me. I squeezed her just as hard, and we laughed, happiness bouncing between us. She let me go and moved to the side.

Eddie sidled up next, though not with a hug but a pat on the back. His expression had me answering the most important question of the many I knew he had.

"She's okay, Castile." Not completely a lie. I looked at Wolfe beside him. _Huh._ There were no questions or confusion in the old man's eyes, only stern determination. "Do you have orange juice and some crackers or something? Jackie will need them."

He nodded and walked away. I would have to ask Jackie how much Wolfe knew. Oddly, though I knew little about him, I trusted Wolfe as much as anyone in our tight-knit group. But how much to trust him with, I wasn't sure. He _had_ helped Sydney and me before, with self-defense as well as weaponry, which gave me a few ideas.

_Escape plan fifty-six: Get some C-4 and, like John McClane, take on highly organized criminals._ Because there was no doubt about it—what the Alchemists were doing was illegal.

I hated that, instead of fantasy getaways, my real "escape plans" now were of rescuing Sydney. Like somehow, I was tainting a memory. The old plans were always outrageous—hell, the new ones were too—and if the circumstances were different and not reality, Sydney would have snorted at that last one. But she probably hadn't seen _Die Hard_. We'd have to watch it, I decided. If nothing else, she would enjoy pointing out what was and wasn't plausible, like my plan.

_But I should have a gun_, I thought and couldn't resist thinking of shooting real gold lilies and what Bruce Willis's character would say. _Yipee-ki-yay, motherfuckers_.

Jill made a choking sound.

Glancing at her, I frowned. "What?"

She raised her hands. "Nothing."

"No, something." I turned toward her. "You don't think I could do it or that I would be any good?"

"You'd never shoot anyone, Adrian."

Eddie stepped closer. "Whoa! Wha—"

"I would if I had to. For Sydney, there's not doubt about it." Jill tried to speak, but I cut her off. "You saw her. Don't tell me your imagination didn't go wild with ideas of what they could be doing to her."

"You can't just go in there guns blazing, though."

"Of course not. That could start a war." _And I would never make it five paces inside the door, let alone out of the building alive_. "I was merely entertaining the idea. I would never do it." I cocked my head to the side and hooked her with my most charming smile. "I mean, come on. I might be as funny as McClane, maybe even better looking—I do have more hair, _great _hair—but can you really see me as a one-man rescue mission, all torn up clothes, bleeding, and no shower for days, taking on dozens of men?"

Jill chuckled. "No, but I think you underestimate yourself, and I know you would do whatever you had to."

Pride burst in my chest. No one had believed I was capable of anything but failure. Only Sydney ever did.

"It's nice to hear you believe in me, Jailbait." I slung an arm around her. "No worries. I won't do anything _that _stupid. But I do need to learn how to shoot—and well. I need to be prepared for anything."

A little voice inside, thankfully not my aunt's, told me my mood was swinging up with my spirit high and from connecting with Sydney. I wondered if my decision was compulsive. Maybe, but also necessary.

"I agree," piped in Eddie. "I should learn, too."

Jill flinched. "What?"

Eddie's expression darkened. "They used guns when they came for Sydney. They had no issues shooting and trying to kill me to get to her." I saw him try to hide a wince, and I knew he was still blaming himself for Sydney's capture despite how we tried to convince him it wasn't his fault. She had tricked him so she could save his life by giving herself up. Persuading people, though usually humans, was her job.

"Sydney was trained," I told them. "I've seen her with a gun. She's a crackshot."

Jill gaped at us. "You really think it will come to that?"

"We hope not," I said, squeezing her shoulder. "But that night, those re-education centers, the effect on someone as strong as Sydney—the Alchemists are more ruthless than we thought. Who knows how far they'd go. Any day now I'm expecting them to approach me, or … or use me against Sydney somehow. Learn more about our relationship. Test how I feel about her and what I would do. I don't know."

Her arm around my waist tightened. "They wouldn't hurt you. _That_ could start a war."

"I'm not related to the queen we have now."

"You're royalty and a close friend to Lissa," she snapped. _And you're my best friend_ went unsaid.

I rubbed her arm, trying to calm her. Maybe talking about this and including Jill was a bad idea. She was already scared for Sydney. Add me _and_ Eddie to the mix—that terrified her and would turn her into a pale Amazon. I knew, without any doubt, that Jill would do whatever it took to protect those she loved. Excluding her from any plans, even small ones, would endanger her more; she'd throw herself in to fray anyway. And obviously, keeping plans from her was impossible because of the bond.

Before Eddie and I could find words to reassure her, a door slammed. Wolfe walked toward us, boxes of pizza and a stack of paper plates balanced on one hand and a bag of drinks hanging from another. I arched a brow.

He lifted the pizzas and explained, "Delivered right after you guys got here. I kept them warm in the oven."

Seconds later, Jackie's door swung open. Her wiry, dark brown hair streaked with gray was everywhere. Sweat beaded on her skin. She trembled and held on to the jamb for support. But her eyes … they shone with tears and hope.

Eddie quickly took the pizzas Wolfe thrust in to his hands. I grabbed the bag, digging for juice before opening the cap. Wolfe had Jackie under an arm and was helping her in to the chair Jill had dragged closer. As Sydney's teacher gulped down juice, everyone settled on the ground around her. Everyone but me. Even Eddie sat on his hunches, facing the group yet still with an eye on all entrances.

I couldn't sit, too excited and antsy. But, conscious of how rude I was being and how Jackie would have to talk up to me—which just wasn't right—I finally crouched next to her, on the opposite side of Wolfe. He rubbed her back, stroked her face and hair, studying and drinking her in.

I never realized he loved her. Deeply care about her, sure. Seeing it and just how much, though, made me happy and ache all at once. I looked away before anyone could see my longing that was close to envy.

Jackie grasped my hand, capturing my attention. Her eyes were closed. "An interstate ending with a five. A billboard with the word _Vegas_. Surrounded by desert or mineral flat lands, some forest and small mountains." She shook her head and opened her eyes. "The closest I could get was an aerial view. Even then, I was being thrown around. The place is heavily cloaked in magic. I couldn't see the building! But it's definitely secluded—and fortified, with magic."

My brows furrowed. "When you say magic ..."

"I mean my kind."

I blinked. The Alchemists utilized Moroi, not human, magic.

Jackie's eyes flicked to Wolfe then back to me. "And yours."

"Both?" Jill and I exclaimed.

"A mix of the two, almost. It's hard to explain." Jackie grimaced. Letting go of my hand, she rubbed her forehead. "It felt … _ancient_. Do you remember what Inez said about the internal and external magic, Adrian?"

The things I could remember from the day we had visited the witch who had once fought Strigoi: Sydney changing a flat tire in a skirt, and Sydney adorably covered in dust and cobwebs, her face alight as she returned from searching the old lady's attic for books. There had been talk of magic, but the conversation had been lost on me. Only the witches understood the geek speak.

"Vaguely," I replied with a wave of hand.

"Well, Sydney's people are using both, of the highest order, somehow inverted—yours external instead of internal, mine internal rather than external—folded upon each other, not negating as they normally would but balancing and strengthening. That's the only way to describe it." As if to herself, Jackie whispered, "I need to talk to the girls and Inez. I wouldn't have even known it was there if I didn't try to get closer and breach it."

I knew little about human magic, and though Jackie sounded worried, those details weren't my concern at the moment. "Well, did you see anything else?"

"Oh." She straightened. "Yes, there was a big lake some distance away and bright lights, like a large city, farther off. I tried to see more signs, but …" Her face contorted. "I'm sorry, Adrian."

"No, no." I patted her hand. "That's okay. You did great. We have a better idea where she is."

"Vegas," Eddie said. "So Interstate 15?"

I nodded. It was the freeway starting in Los Angeles, going northeast to Las Vegas, and ending … somewhere. I pulled out my phone to do a search. From the corner of my eye, I saw Eddie did too. That interstate stayed in Pacific and Mountain Time Zones. Jackie had said some desert or flat land, meaning the lower half of the country. With small mountains, that left: Arizona, Nevada, or Utah.

_So close_. _Closer than we thought._

"Do you have ideas on the direction or the placement of landmarks?" I asked Jackie.

Mouth full of pizza, she shook her head and quickly swallowed. "Since it's night, I couldn't tell, but the interstate, lake, and city were always on one side no matter was direction I faced if I were parallel to the freeway. Whether I was looking north or south, as that interstate runs, all three were on my left when I was directly above the facility."

"How big was the lake?" Eddie asked, obviously seeing and hoping what I was.

"_Big_."

Eddie's and my eyes met.

"So near Las Vegas," I started.

"Or Salt Lake City," he finished. _Utah, Sydney's home state. _

We both smiled. It wasn't much, but after having no luck for weeks, it felt good to have some information. I could pass it along to Marcus. Hopefully he could use it to find the re-education center since I couldn't very well scour every building along that interstate like I wanted. I only wished I could do more.

My foot tapped a staccato beat as my mind ran through options. Eddie accepted a plate of pizza from Wolfe, who then asked Jill and me, "Do you eat?"

Having just taken a bite, Eddie choked. Jackie's jaw dropped before she laughed. Jill and I froze and shared wide-eyed stares.

Wolfe raised a hand to stop us. "Don't worry. You don't need to confirm anything. I have my theories, and that's enough for me. Just let me know what you need. I'll do my best to get it for you. So, pizza?"

Jill smiled warmly but nervously, tight-lipped to hide her teeth. "Adrian and I will have a slice?" She glanced at me, and I nodded. I wasn't hungry but should eat.

As we nibbled, I studied the old man, who really wasn't old. Mid-fifties, I would guess. He and Jackie chatted quietly about their weekend plans, both at ease with the three of us in the room. He didn't eye us with suspicion or fear, and I suspected it wasn't because he was blissfully ignorant. If anything, he had a sharp, deadly awareness of what was happening around him as well as what didn't.

I wiped my fingers with a napkin and decided to dive right in. "How did you know?"

"That you're vampires, or that you're Moroi?" He didn't look up from his empty plate. He merely smirked at the stunned silence. "Well, to answer the first … whenever you were with Sydney and she made you laugh, you smiled too big."

I laughed now, without humor. Would I always be the one who gave us away?

Tension vibrated from Eddie. He leaned forward, ready to pounce.

"As to the second …" Wolfe began cleaning up the food, seemingly ignoring the guardian's movement and how Jill inched back. I understood their wariness. The last humans we'd learned who knew about our existence hated us, not just Strigoi. The air felt thick, and a sudden, hard glint entered the instructor's eyes.

"My men and I were in Prague for reconnaissance," he started, "gathering information on a human trafficking cartel. One night, we heard screams and fighting from an alley. We were young, hired men but no longer in the service, so we acted and found something just as evil but more unnatural than the scum who deal in flesh." He leaned back on his hands and stretched out his legs, assuming a relaxed pose Eddie regarded but that still didn't put him at ease.

"The leader and his main man had chalky skin, long incisors, insane strength." Wolfe looked at me and friends before he added, "And red-rimmed pupils."

We supernatural creatures exhaled, relieved it wasn't our kind he resented, but we knew what was coming.

At our grimaces, Wolfe nodded. "We were no match for them. A couple of my men died, one was turned, and the rest of us … we became feeders." Eddie stiffened; he had his own memories of such an experience. Wolfe took a sip of his drink and then fiddled with the label.

"There was a young woman—a Moroi, I learned. I knew she was important from the start. The others with her were quick to protect her, to offer themselves up, and I found myself doing the same. It wasn't days later that we were the only two left, and one of the Strigoi decided he wanted to change me. Ana knew what that meant—there would be no hope for her. But she wouldn't go down without a fight or trying to escape."

Wolfe sighed. "And we got _lucky_. While the Strigoi argued about me upstairs, other people ambushed the house. Ana and I didn't know or care who. We rushed to use the distraction to slip out of the cellar, holding each other up and stumbling around the city until we passed out and recovered in a broken-down farmhouse, where she later told me everything."

He didn't say more. Obviously, he was omitting details, and we all had a lot of questions, but no one moved to voice them.

The most important question was if we believed him. And I did. It was his best and most realistic story yet, told with an openness that I think cost him. Recalling Sydney once telling me that Wolfe had fallen in love with a "Silver Tooth Sally" and regretted letting her go, I could also guess what had happened to him and Ana afterward. He was human, and she was Moroi—silver-toothed with venom. They went back to their separate lives.

How clever that Wolfe spun his tales with a little truth. Wasn't fiction always lined with it, as he had learned and my existence proved? I would have to pay better attention. He was clearly trying to clue us in. But I wouldn't pry and try to solve the puzzle that was Wolfe today. I had to get my friends back to Amberwood before curfew. They might be on Spring Break, but it didn't officially start until Monday, when they would move to Clarence's for the week.

I stood, and everyone else followed. My cell's alarm punctured the quiet, making Jill and Jackie jump before I could press a button.

Then I reached out a hand toward the man who wanted to help us. Help me and Sydney. Why else would he tell us that story? Asking about my and Jill's eating habits was his not-so-subtle way of broaching the subject. He knew we were in a bind and that time was running out.

Wolfe eyed my hand before extending his own. We shook hands and nodded, no words needed to acknowledge what this meant.

"Sydney's family has a custody hearing coming up," I said, acting on a hunch and hoping I wasn't too late. "Can you find out where and when it happens?"

His lips twitched. "Can I see out of my left eye?"

The patch was on his left.

I laughed. "Thanks." I didn't have to say what for. His curt nod and slap on the back told me he knew. Hoping I wouldn't regret it, I gave him Sydney's real last name and hometown.

Jackie squeezed my arm. "I'll call you after I see the coven tonight." They would be using the new moon to help locate Sydney, but I couldn't be there like I had asked. Although they knew about my kind, they didn't know or trust me.

I bit the inside of my cheek. _It's all right, Ivashkov. One human at time, and you gained one today._

"Call any time. No matter how late," I said to Jackie.

"Of course."

Wolfe pointed at me and Eddie before I could turn away. "Stop by in a couple days if you can. I'll teach you how to shoot."

I started. "How—"

He smiled, and I could swear he winked behind that eye patch. "I have my ways."

Eddie and Jill gave their thanks and goodbyes. As we walked to the car, she looked at us with a wry smile. "Does Wolfe remind you of anyone?"

Eddie grunted while scanning the area. "Yeah. A grungy Abe."

I smiled a little and unlocked the car doors. Abe Mazur was like a supernatural Don Corleone—or Machiavelli, depending on his mood and intent. A wicked mobster vampire, he'd break your kneecaps before he'd even consider sucking your blood. Known for his resources and shrewd mind, he seemed to know everything possible and was a cunning businessman who always delivered the impossible. He could sweet talk the hardest female guardian into having his baby, bust someone out of prison, evade the law after blowing up historical Moroi monuments. He also loved scarves and Turkish gold jewelry more than the average woman. He was one scary, over-dressed S.O.B and a complete mystery.

Yeah, he and Wolfe were full of surprises.

I already tried to contact Abe through Lissa, sending him a message to call me. I had yet to hear from him.

The drive back to Amberwood Prep was better than the drive from. Some chatter, with comfortable silences peppered throughout, as we recounted the night and what we could do. Eddie had walked Jill to her dorm's door, and though there had been no physical contact, they stood and leaned in closer than before, hesitating as they said goodbye to one another. The previous tension between them had shifted into that sweet awkwardness and anticipation of something new.

Seeing Sydney and now two those tonight, I drove away and thought, _It had been a good day_.

But as I entered my apartment building, alone, with nothing to look forward to, I could feel my emotional high crashing. Without stabilizing medication, my moods swung like a pendulum that had no middle ground. Worries bombarded my mind. Insecurity and helplessness began spiraling within.

I'd learned to recognize and anticipate the change. I couldn't let it take over when I had plans to spirit dream with Marcus and hopefully Sydney again tonight. So I thought of painting and music and maybe calling Rowena, my art partner. Her girlfriend, Cassie, might be up for teaching me another recipe, too.

All that went the window when I walked through my door and flicked on the light. On the ground lay an envelope stamped with an attorney's office address. Inside was legal mumbo-jumbo, but the intent was clear—the Alchemists' first strike.

_Eviction Notice._

* * *

**Note:** Wolfe's reference to Silver Tooth Sally—_The Indigo Spell_ by Richelle Mead, Razorbill Publishing, US Hardback, page 380.


	4. Chapter 4 — Sydney

...

**Chapter ****Four**

**Sydney**

I couldn't repeat the words. To do so felt like cheating, which for me, went against every cell and neuron in my body.

"You are very, very sick, Sydney," the voice intoned when I stayed silent. "You are in danger of losing your soul. It is drowning in darkness that clouds your judgment. We must stop the taint before it is too late." The voice paused a beat. "And as corrupted as you are, there is only one procedure to expel it."

_Procedure_. They had never used that word before, not even for the brainwashing videos.

Fear bubbled within me, fast and furious. The lights flared to a blinding level. Both had me gasping and scrambling around the room with eyes cinched tightly.

"You have left us no choice," the voice droned, louder than usual.

I screamed as hands were laid on me. I kicked and clawed and flung around madly, but my feet only met padded clothing. My worn-down nails slid uselessly across the smooth, tight fabric. Soon, they had me by my arms and wrists, calves and ankles, face down, with a knee digging into my back. I felt the prick of a needle before my body went slack.

To my surprise, I didn't pass out. My vision grew blurry, and my brain was slow to process, but I was aware of being lifted and strapped down. Normally, they drugged me through my water, and I would wake up wherever they had wanted me.

Since this would be the first time I was conscious during the transfer, I tried to catch glimpses of the people, the halls, and the other rooms as they wheeled me from mine. It was useless, however. Like in a dream, I was merely left with impressions of gender, shape, and color.

I must have blanked for a bit, because the next thing I knew, two faceless blobs hovered above me and I was no longer being moved. I thought I heard snippets of conversation, words like "anesthesia" and "blood pressure stable." Upon hearing "electrode," "direct current," and "brief pulse stimulus," I moaned.

The doctors' next words were washed out by my panic, by beeping and my frenetic pulse. The harder I tried to move, to fight, it felt as if I couldn't breathe, and I couldn't swallow around what must have been a mouth guard. I couldn't move, couldn't feel my body, as distorted people and voices flurried around me.

Then true darkness enveloped me.

—.—

I awoke disoriented. I was warm, hugged by soft sheets and a blanket, my body clothed and cushioned atop a bed—all of which felt … _wrong_. Surrounded by pitch black, lethargic and confused, I reached out in front of me, expecting a wall but feeling only air.

Brows furrowed, I sat up. Dizziness swept through me. I closed my eyes to gain my equilibrium before opening them again and squinting at the dark that I either was growing accustomed to or that was gradually lightening.

"Hello, Sydney," said the synthesized voice.

I recoiled. Everything came flooding back. My cell, the forceful hands, and the pinch of a needle. The doctors. The terms they used.

Electroconvulsive therapy.

"No. _No._" I flew to my feet and stumbled, falling to my hands and knees.

"Ah, good. You remember."

Of course I did. It was one session, but weeks of more and I would experience memory deficits and lose the ability to create new memories, usually temporary, resolving days or weeks after the course—provided that I received "treatment" only twice a week. Any more than that and for longer, though, and I would be at serious risk of autobiographical memory loss. I wouldn't remember parts of my past, my life, the people in it. Semantic memory, general facts and knowledge, would suffer as well.

I knew all this because I had researched coercion tactics and the effects after I had video chatted with Keith Darnell. He was an Alchemist who had returned from a re-education center, where _I_ had helped put him after catching him collect and sell vampire blood in a charmed tattoo scheme. Seeing and hearing Keith utterly devoid of emotion, I had been unnerved and armed myself in the only way I knew how: With knowledge.

Now, I almost wished I didn't know what to expect.

I lurched to stand but crashed into a wall. Ignoring the pain in my shoulder, I groped around for the door. I couldn't stay here. I was _nothing_ without my mind. It made me who I was.

"Sydney, you need to calm down. You wouldn't want us to drug you again, would you?"

_No. God, no._ The Alchemists could do whatever they wanted to me without my knowing, and I might not remember. I stilled but then bent at the waist, mumbling. "I'm going to be sick."

"You_ are_ sick, Sydney, and now you are aware of what is at stake. Your soul. Your mind. That's good. You recognize the depravity and penance of darkness as well as the path to salvation. You only need cooperate. Confess."

I shook my head, not because I didn't agree—I _was_ aware of what I would lose. And not because I didn't want to cooperate, though I still didn't. But because the Alchemists were so _wrong_. What they were doing to me, what they were proclaiming and asking of me.

I slid down the wall, all hope falling to my feet in smithereens.

Whoever was watching and was behind the mic took my reactions as a denial, and in a way, it was. I couldn't believe I was here. I didn't want to.

"We regret to see you aren't willing, Sydney. However, we want to give you one more chance at redemption. There is someone here to see you. Someone who might help convince you."

_No. Please, no._

"If you would return to the bed," the voice continued, "you can see the visitor."

I buried my face against my knees and said the first thing that came to mind, two words I had never said before.

The voice tsked at my language—its first remotely human reaction—but I could see in my periphery that the lights in the room, which had been getting gently brighter, flicked on to a normal level. I didn't look up, though I was equally anxious and dreading whom the visitor was.

Moments later, a new and clear voice greeted, "Sydney."

I cringed. Really, I should have known better. My visitor wouldn't be anyone I wanted to see, and those I did wish to wouldn't—_shouldn't_—be here.

Slowly, I lifted my head and took in the man who had raised me. Jared Sage, dressed impeccably even by Alchemists' standards, stood with a rigidity that matched his brand of upbringing: Spine steeled against any contradictory force, unforgiving hands clasped together in a controlling manner, intractable chin tipped up. Tall, broad-shouldered, and with a symmetrical face and dark-blond hair, he would be handsome if it wasn't for the condescending curl of his lip and the disdain in his light brown eyes.

I slammed into large window that separated us before I even realized what I was doing. "What do _you_ want?"

He flinched and moved to take a step back before he remembered himself and stopped. Jaw ticking, he glared. "Well, you've turned rather savage. They're right. Maybe there is no hope for you."

"I know you aren't here to check on my well-being," I snapped. "You know what happens in this place, and yet, you admitted me. It couldn't be to see my progress, either. Obviously, you know. So what. Do you. Want?"

He studied me from head to toe, contempt—and shame? Surely not—shadowing his face. He looked away, and his nostrils flared as he took a deep breath. "I'm here to make you a deal."

I snorted. "I don't accept."

"Oh, but you will. Your new treatments are being discussed even as we speak. You can make the results less … drastic by cooperating."

Dread pooled in my stomach, and I crossed my arms to keep my hands from shaking. I stayed silent, knowing he wasn't finished as he began to pace with his usual righteous disposition that I resented. A small smile played on his lips. His eyes glinted with ominous glee when they met my own.

"Have you forgotten that we know where your vampire lives?" I opened my mouth, but he continued, "And let's not forget your other friends. It would be unfortunate if a group of Strigoi or the girl queen's enemies were to learn where they lived and had their … _meals_. All those humans, your favorite teacher, and that old Moroi, Clarence, too." He shook his head in false dismay.

Fuming, I clenched my teeth. Tears of frustration began to build.

"Then there's your sister. Zoe." My dad glanced at the door on his side. "She's here, you know. Oh, she didn't want to come. She threw a fit and raised her voice to me for the first time over it, but maybe a few weeks as your neighbor will teach her."

I couldn't take any more. I banged my palms against the window. "You wouldn't dare!"

"Wouldn't I?" He studied me again, pointedly.

"She's your daughter. We're—we're your flesh and blood." The words were useless, I knew. My father—no, _Jared_ _Sage_ would sacrifice all to the Alchemist cause, including his family. But I was stunned, at complete loss, and had to say something. "And those … those are people. Humans. Our kind."

He sneered. "The Moroi and dhampirs are unnatural, evil. You used to believe that, too. And the others"—he shrugged—"causalities for the greater good."

I gaped.

"Like I said, for the greater good. The Alchemists will do whatever is necessary. We have for centuries."

I rubbed my face, exhaustion and disbelief and so many other things hitting me. Silently, I went toward the bed.

"Now the question is, will you?" my dad asked.

"You didn't answer my first question," I said numbly. I lay down, knowing he would take that as the personal affront it was. I turned my head to look at him. "What do you want?"

"Your cooperation."

"I can parrot whatever they want me to say. It doesn't mean I believe it or that I will."

He gritted his teeth. "Try harder. Stop fighting the therapy and treatments. I don't know what you're doing, but it's something. No one has lasted this long, not without being a little affected."

I gave a small, bitter smile. "Why?"

He blinked, startled. "Why? I don't know. They were prob—"

"No. _Why_ do you want my cooperation?"

He shrugged and flicked his hand. "They want their best Alchemist back."

I ignored the pride that flared within me; the acknowledgment wasn't high praise coming from radical criminals. "And you. What is it _you_ want, Jared?"

His face turned molten red, probably from both my blatant disrespect and because I got to the heart of the matter.

"Don't want to tell me?" I faked a yawn that turned real. "That's fine. I'm tired and need to sleep. Whenever you're ready to tell me, we'll talk, and I'll consider it."

He sputtered. My smile grew genuine. Who knew I could get under the great Alchemist's skin. Having some semblance of control over a situation for once felt good, too.

As I closed my eyes, he answered, tone brusque, "The custody hearing is coming up."

My jaw dropped. "You can't be serious." His cold expression revealed he was. I scoffed and then laughed. It sounded nasty even to my ears. "Wow. You … you're … What do you want? Me testify for you and slander Mom?"

He nodded once.

"After what you just said, how you would put Zoe in here, you really expect me to do that? Why do you even want her or care? You don't love her." When he didn't contradict me, I searched his face and found the answer. His pride. I wondered aloud, "Why do you hate Mom—and us—so much?"

"Let's get one thing straight. I was not making empty threats." He reached for something I couldn't see before he slapped it on the window. "They were warnings."

Alarms blared in my head as I sat up and walked tentatively to the window to study the eight-by-ten photograph. It was of Adrian, looking the worse for wear as he walked down his street, a half-empty liquor bottle in hand and a cigarette hanging from his mouth.

Jared smacked another photo next to it. An obviously drunk and miserable Adrian sitting on a sidewalk, his art partner Rowena and a gorgeous blonde whom I was sure was her girlfriend sitting on either side of him.

A new photo replaced the first. Adrian, Eddie, and Jill were walking to the Ivashkinator on Wolfe's land. From Adrian's clothing and appearance, I would guess the picture was taken the night we had shared a spirit dream.

More snapshots. Jill chatting with Angeline, Trey, and Neil during lunch at Amberwood. Eddie and Jill in sparing clothes, longing and pain evident in his eyes as she shook a finger up at him. Ms. Terwilliger smiling on Wolfe's porch as he kissed her cheek. Adrian on a park bench, lost in thought and rubbing a thumb over frozen Hopper's scales. So many pictures of my friends in their daily lives, some far, some so close and sharp it was as if the photographer sat right next to them.

And the last: Shot from outside his windows, it captured Adrian standing just inside his apartment door, face crumpled in agony as he stared down at a piece of paper in his hand.

"We're having him evicted. What happens next is up to you." My _dad_ began stuffing the prints back into a folder, but I was sure he could feel the daggers I was shooting at the top of his head. "Oh, I don't want you to miss this one." He tapped the side of the photo taken at Wolfe's and brought out a new one: A close-up of a dark figure hiding in the shadows Jared indicated, red ring around the pupils glowing. "One word from us and t—"

I didn't hear the rest. I ran to the toilet and dry-heaved.

When I sat back, I wiped my mouth, my eyes and nose, and nodded. "Okay. Okay, I'll do it. Whatever you want, I'll do it."

"Good. I knew you would see reason, Sydney."

There was no doubt about it—my dad was an ass. And he was dead to me.

"But first, you have to show us you're committed. You won't be as ready as you need to be for the hearing, and that might be easily fixed soon, but I won't take any chances. Convince us, as you would the judge." He strode to the door and opened it.

I stood up just as Zoe entered. I wasn't ready for the cold betrayal I felt and the hot fury that followed. She blanched before I could school my features. Jared raised a brow.

Swallowing, I tamped down the emotions and slid on, what I hoped was, my expressionless Alchemist mask. Sitting on the bed, hands in my lap and ankles crossed, I said, "Hello, Zoe. You look well."

It was a lie, of course. Besides her paling complexion from having to face me, she looked hunted—doe eyes bloodshot and shifty, as if there were a beast in every corner. Her pantsuit was ill fitting and slightly wrinkled, and her hair was in a sloppy bun. But her shaky, tentative smile indicated she believed me or, at least, wanted to.

And just like that, sorrow trickled in with memories of her as a little girl with the same smile. She was my younger sister. At one point in time, she had looked up to me for reassurance, approval, and guidance. With my parents' divorce, she needed it more than ever and had none.

As Jared clamped a hand on her shoulder, she seemed to cower in on herself. Then she straightened, and I gritted my teeth. His approval came above others' for Zoe, and her fear of him might even trump that. While I had extreme mixed feelings toward her and might never forget what she did, I was reminded how I needed to get her away from his clutches. She wouldn't survive a week in a re-education center. And there were more lives at risk.

"Thank you," she said, her voice small. She cleared her throat. "How … how are you feeling?"

"Better. Not cured, but better," I replied, recalling Keith's words.

"That's good."

"Mm-hmm." I drummed my fingers. I had never excelled at small talk or any type of socializing. "How about you? Have you been busy?"

"Yes, the Alchemists have me in the field, shadowing another, and I'm taking some extra courses while I stay with a family in—" Jared's fingers flexed on her shoulder, and she winced. "Yes, yes, I've been busy."

Before I could jump on the sudden inspiration of asking about her life, Jared cut me a look and said, "Zoe, I'm sure Sydney's tired. She's been through a lot, has many things to process and consider, especially in the next few days."

"Of course." She stood, looking relieved but also hesitant. "I—I hope you feel better and to see you soon."

Not _I will see you _soon, but _hope to._ Another sting I didn't know what to do with, but I whispered, "I miss you too, Zoe." And I did. I missed my little sister and what could have been. I hated the loss because I didn't think I could ever forgive her.

I wasn't sure if she heard me. Jared had clicked off the intercom and was walking her out. I couldn't hear what he said, but from the wounded look on her face, I could tell he was berating her. Closing the door behind her, he switched on the com and crossed his arms.

"You truly are capable of being the best." He shook his head. "If only you were a boy."

I sighed at his condemnation laced with silver lining and stretched out on the bed, savoring the feel before the luxury was taken away. Jared continued to talk, explaining the next few days, how I would be given materials to study and what I would have to say in the court, how no one would be hurt as long as I cooperated. I half listened while I tried to settle the acidic churning within and stop my mind spinning with plans and fears of what was to come.

But I have never been good at not thinking.

The Alchemists would continue their sick therapy. I could lose my mind, my memories. I had a few weeks, maybe a couple months, before any permanent damage would be done—or so I told myself.

I might have the opportunity to escape at the custody hearing, though, as it was obvious that I would have to be there to testify. It would be my only chance, and by assenting to Jared's and the Alchemists' biddings, I was giving everyone else a chance too.

In the meantime, I would do what I did best: Gather and retain information. Prepare. Anticipate. Because I wasn't a fool. Something big, bigger than one very capable Alchemist and her relationship with a vampire, was happening. I might have fallen for the complete disregard of human lives for one second, but my mind had cleared. The threat was empty. It had to be—at least when it came to our kind. The Alchemists were clearly trying to make me bend to their demands. They wanted something from me. I just needed to find out what.

Fortified by that thought and with my decision, I interrupted the man whom I was beginning to pity as much as loath. My voice unrecognizable with its level, cutting precision. My words made more deadly for how slowly and softly they were spoken.

"Let's get one thing straight, _Dad_. This is my warning. If anything happens to those you mentioned, you will regret not only the day I was born but also the day you were."

Probably not the smartest move, but the stunned silence was satisfying.


	5. Chapter 5 — Adrian

...

**Chapter Five**

**Adrian**

I would have thought the pounding in my head was from a wicked hangover, but after recent dates with a bottle, I knew better. Bleary-eyed and half-dressed, I staggered to my door and opened it wide. Not looking at my visitor, I padded toward my couch and plopped onto the cushions, mumbling, "Morning, Castile."

I heard the door click shut before: "It's the afternoon, and Eddie's scouting the area."

My head abruptly lifted off the back of the couch. Wincing, I peered through the slits of my lids. Jill looked as miserable as I did, eyes bloodshot and heavy with bags and shadows. Her sympathetic smile made me feel worse.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"I know." Reaching over to the record player, she stopped The Allman Brothers'_ Whipping Post. _She toed off her shoes and curled up next to me, her head against my shoulder and an arm looping through mine. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm getting used to it—building a tolerance, so to speak."

"It doesn't."

"I know that too and knew it wouldn't."

I didn't have to look at her to know she was smiling. Sighing, I slumped down further and rested my cheek on the top of her head. "I really am sorry," I muttered pathetically.

"So am I, Adrian. So am I." Her shoulders rose with her deep intake of breath before she exhaled slowly. "We'll get through this, though. Marcus will return your call. At least you left him the details, and he has to sleep sometime. Sydney too. Mrs. Terwilliger and the witches will figure out this ancient magic the Alchemists are using, get better clues to help us."

"I don't understand why I couldn't go with her to see Inez." I had met the old witch before. While Jackie's reasoning about being careful who I associated with made sense, I felt useless. It had been the final straw last night after not connecting with Marcus and Sydney, learning that the witches didn't find anything new, and getting that damn letter.

"_And_," Jill continued as if I hadn't spoken, "we'll find you another place to live."

I didn't want another place. Sydney and I lived and loved here. Technically it wasn't her address, but she lived in these walls, in these rooms, on my bed. The heavy presence of her absence was a testament to that.

Staring at my wall painted in the Goldenrod yellow that reminded me of her aura, I couldn't imagine leaving without her by my side. I had dreamed of us apartment hunting and moving into it together, every box perfectly packed and labeled, all our items finding a home to suit her logical expectations and OCD standards, before we christened every space and piece of furniture. It would be filled with tomes and half-finished paintings, knowledge and imagination clashing yet coexisting. The smells of leather, paper, turpentine, and pancakes permanent. Light, laughter, and love abundant.

Something wet landed on my shoulder. Jill sniffed and moved away, wiping her face. "Sorry."

I pulled her back. I didn't want her apologizing—it should be me doing that—and because of Sydney, I had been getting used to physical contact and affection. I missed it, found that I needed it. Not for the same reasons or in the same way, of course, but for comfort, whether giving or receiving it.

"Same here," murmured Jill as she snuggled back into my shoulder.

I chuckled then groaned from the ache in my head. Jill did too. "Wow. Bond working that good today, huh?" She nodded and hummed. So, I asked, "Well, what am I thinking now?"

"Too much talking. Should be more sleeping." My body vibrated from holding in a laugh. She added, "And less moving."

I was already starting to feel better, but I complied. We were about to nod off when Eddie strode in. As usual, he assessed the situation in the room with a single sweep of his gaze, but a stormy expression crossed his face as his eyes lit on Jill and me, our position, and my bare chest.

I rolled my eyes. Jill grunted once, in what I would guess was agreement. That brought another affirmative grunt, and I grumbled, "We really need to work on blocking each other."

"I agree," snapped Eddie. He gestured at her sitting up and rubbing her temples. "Maybe she wouldn't be in this position, then."

Jill gave him a scathing glare. "Better this position than dead, don't you think?"

"Of course! I—" He grimaced. Sighing, he looked at me. "You were doing so well. I get it—I do—but enough's enough, Adrian. Going into the deep end when everything else does doesn't solve anything. You're capable of stopping and so much more. I don't just believe that. I _know_ it. The past few months have shown it." He threw his hands up. "Hell, the past few weeks have! You've gone back to class. You're actually training with Wolfe seriously—I know you go with Rowena," he added. "Don't deny it. Besides last night, you hardly drink, though you do great at acting like a drunk. You picked up smoking again, yes, but I know you don't enjoy it. It's only to take the edge off." He took a deep breath.

At my and Jill's gawking stares, he crossed his arms. "What? It's true." He shrugged, more flustered than blasé.

Jill was still speechless but also appraising and admiring. Me? I wasn't so shocked by how much he said but by _what_ he said. I wasn't used to the faith and praise or the expressing of either from anyone. First Jill. Now Eddie.

Astounded and a little disturbed, I stood slowly. "I'm … going to hop in the shower."

"You do that," Eddie sniped. He had become stoic but was clearly uncomfortable, looking at anywhere but us. "And make it fast. We have to meet Wolfe and be back before curfew."

I frowned. "Did he get info on the custody hearing already?" It hadn't even been a day since I had asked Wolfe to look into it, and he could have called.

"No, not that I know of. Jackie only said he needed to show us something, which you would know if you answered your cell. And no, I don't think it has anything to do with firearms."

That was disappointing, but curiosity and a whole lot of worry forced me into action. I hurried through my shower as fast as I could. Anxiety made me clumsy. A jackhammering headache slowed me down, and I cursed myself and alcohol for the countless time.

And for the first time in history, my hair would have to suffer. To cover it up, I threw on a charcoal gray hoodie I had only worn once until Sydney had commented how sexy it was. She had unzipped it with dark eyes, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Her hands had slipped under the t-shirt I wore beneath before she ran her fingertips along my stomach and the edge of my waist. It had been the first time I'd seen that hungry look on her face.

Shaking away the image, I strode into my living room. Jill smiled, obviously pleased and amused, but with a little blush in her cheeks—no doubt from my Sydney memory. Eddie's eyes bugged. He glanced at his watch, blinked, then stared back at me. I ignored him and continued toward the door, grabbing my cell phone and keys and Hopper.

As they rushed to follow me, Eddie whispered to Jill, "Is he not wearing hair product?"

I smirked, though I had to resist running my hands through my hair. "Jealous, Castile?"

When we stepped outside, Eddie snapped out of it and into guardian mode. We rounded the corner to the parking lot. I saw Neil Raymond, one of the three guardians assigned to protect Jill and the newest member to our group in Palm Springs, leaning against an unknown car. His serious brow furrowed when he saw me. He immediately said goodbye to whoever was on the other end of his call. My guess—Olive Sinclair, another dhampir but one recently restored from being a Strigoi.

Eyeing him, I asked Eddie, "What's William the Conqueror doing here? Are you expecting trouble?"

We had discussed bringing our friends into the fold and had yet to decide when and how. There'd been no question that Neil would be the first, not Angeline Dawes, the third guardian who rounded off our group. We adored her, but she might let something unknowingly slip.

The young Brit, on the other hand, had willingly opted to be the test dummy for the spirit-infused tattoo that we had hoped would stop the person from turning Strigoi; we hadn't been sure if it would work. Allowing himself to be bitten, Neil had risked his life to find out that it did. Instantly, with that one act, the guardian we thought was over-the-top had gained our trust and respect. He'd also seen Sydney perform a fire spell and hadn't said a word of it to anyone.

Yet, although Neil was aware we were inquiring about Sydney's whereabouts, he didn't know about our taboo relationship. He only believed she'd been taken because she'd grown too close to us godless creatures. Simply put, I trusted him with my life but not with my secrets. Also, he had never met Wolfe.

"Just being cautious," answered Eddie. "You might trust Malachi, but I don't know much about him. He knows what we are, and him asking us to meet, even in broad daylight …" He ticked his head the side, as in _fill-in-the-blanks_.

I didn't find Wolfe's request sketchy so much as worrisome. But then again, I wasn't a guardian and I _was_ starting to trust the old man. Hearing his story with the Moroi woman last night, I felt we could relate. We did, however, have to remember that not only were Strigoi our enemies but some Moroi and humans were, too.

Suddenly, my nerves kicked up a notch. I rubbed my forehead. Too much thinking and happening all at once. "It's a good idea," I acknowledged. "And we can watch how Wolfe reacts to having a larger group of us around him."

We agreed to take separate cars, which I learned theirs was borrowed from Micah, Eddie's roommate. We pulled into Wolfe's within minutes of each other and no more than half hour since Eddie showed up at my apartment. I was proud of myself.

That feeling quickly went away as Wolfe stepped out onto his porch. He scanned the area, his stance stiff and alert. Unease roiled in my stomach, and I pretended not to notice how he did a double take when I jumped out of my car along with Neil.

"What's going on?" I asked.

He shook his head and held open the front door, closing it and throwing four locks as soon as we were all inside. He gave me the once-over again. "What's up with the hood?"

I clenched my jaw. "Can you just tell us what happened? What is so important that you couldn't call to tell me but had to show us _and_ that Jackie wouldn't know?"

"How do you know she doesn't? She could."

"She would have said more," I shot back.

Wolfe smiled. "You're learning, boy. Good. You kids smartened up, too. Brought more protection."

He nodded at Neil but didn't say anything else before he turned and led us to the back of the house. I took that as typical Wolfe. He never asked questions, not even when Sydney had gone to him for a gun. Whether that was a good sign or not, I couldn't tell.

It certainly didn't seem to put Eddie at ease. He and Neil situated themselves around Jill and me as best they could, their eyes darting to every corner and passageway, hands near their waists where stakes were concealed. Wolfe stepped into the stairway that led to the basement. Before I could follow, Neil stopped in front of me, exchanging a look with Eddie and receiving a nod. Wolfe yelled up to Eddie to close the door, which didn't help the tension.

When we reached the bottom, I noted with surprise that the basement was finished, sparsely furnished but clean. I was expecting boxes upon boxes or crates of guns and foreign relics for the man who rarely shaved, seemed to wear the same Bermuda shorts everyday, and supposedly traveled around the world. The guardians seemed a little amazed, too.

The last thing I expected and that caught me off guard, though, was Wolfe jumping up and pressing on the household fire alarm, and a section of the wall zipping open. That and what was on the other side brought everyone to halt, along with Jill's stifled scream.

There, staring out of the darkness, were glowing red eyes—but on a screen. And upon closer inspection, a face recognition program was running on the frozen Strigoi's features.

Jill and I breathed a brief sigh of relief.

Eddie demanded, "What is this?"

Wolfe strode to what could only be described as a DEFCON center. Computer and TV screens lined the wall. Keyboards and a large console with an insane amount of switches, buttons, and dials were fixed beneath. He pressed one of those buttons now, and one of the TVs showed the Strigoi lurking in the shadows, unnaturally still and watching something, made even scarier because of the green lighting of night vision.

"My camera caught this last night," Wolfe explained. "Near the edges of my property on the other side of the training center. If the timestamp is correct—and it is—the Strigoi was there as you three were leaving."

"And you asked us to meet here?" growled Eddie. He pulled Jill closer behind him and grabbed my arm. Neil moved to the base of the stairs, scanning the entryway.

Wolfe threw up a hand. "Just wait. You have to see this, too."

He pushed more buttons, and the largest screen in the room flicked on. Two cars were nestled in a junkyard across the street. As Wolfe zoomed in, we could see a man with a camera sitting in the second car that was parked behind the first. Wolfe fast-forwarded the video and then stopped as the man drove past the front.

"Do you recognize that mark?" Wolfe pointed at the man's cheek, where an unmistakable gold lily shone dimly.

I wasn't the only one who inhaled sharply.

"I studied the videos and noticed something odd," Wolfe continued. "So I scouted both their positions. That man"—he pointed at the Alchemist—"he didn't just take pictures of you in my parking lot but of the Strigoi watching too."

Shock and horror coursed through me. I didn't know what to say, where to start. Eddie and Neil cursed, colorfully and with rage.

Jill sputtered. "What—what does that mean?" She looked at me and then Eddie, gripping his arm.

"It means our cover is blown," I started. "It _means _we underestimated the Alchemists. It means ... we might have trusted the wrong people. They … they know we're in danger and might not do anything about it." I didn't voice my last thought. It seemed too outrageous. Complete lunacy. It would mean what we believed and had known wasn't true at all.

_The Alchemists worked with Strigoi_.

My eyes met Eddie's. His reflected my distress. He nodded once, showing he had the same line of thinking. Maybe we were being paranoid, jumping to conclusions. Maybe not. Either way, Palm Springs was no longer a safe haven. When I looked at Jill, I remembered the bond and cursed. Her face was bleached of color. Her eyes were wide, glassy, and blank.

I took her face between my hands. "You're going back to Court. Tonight—before, even. I'll call Lissa and start making the flying arrangements. I'll tell Clarence we're going on a real vacation. Leave your things at Amberwood, and head to the airport. The others will meet you there or be right behind you." When she didn't reply, I gripped harder. "Jill. _Jill._"

Her gaze focused, and she reached up to grasp my hands. "W-what about you?"

"I—" I didn't realize I had already made the decision to stay. Sydney … I couldn't leave her. I couldn't give up on her, especially now.

I heard Jill's slap before I felt its sting. I was shoved before I could even turn back to look at her.

"No!" Jill pushed me again but then clung to the front of my hoodie. "You can't save her if you're dead! They'll kill you. Sic Strigoi on you. No one loves a martyr!" She smacked my chest again and again, tears streaming down her face. "You can't! You can't—"

I wrapped my arms around her. "I can't leave her, Jill."

"You can't leave me either!" She wiggled and stomped on my foot then jabbed her elbow into my stomach, making me drop my hold. Eddie had his arms around her before she could shove me again. She immediately deflated. "You're here," she said to me, putting her hands above her heart before pointing at her head. "And here. Do you know what you dying would do to me?"

My eyes watered. I could imagine. I would feel like dying if anything happened to Jill, just as much as when something had happened to Sydney, which was why Jill needed to leave. I couldn't lose another person. And with the bond …

I swallowed, unable to finish that thought. Even I couldn't be that selfish to make Jill experience my death. But what about Sydney?

Jill grabbed my hands. "I'm not asking you to choose between us. I'm asking you to be smart." She stared into my eyes, pleading. "Talk to Lissa. She's queen and can help us. I'll talk to her, too. She's … she's my sister. She'll want to help."

Considering it, I had the sudden urge to vomit. Panting and feeling as if the room were closing in on me, I wanted to scream and curl into a ball with a bottle.

"If Lissa can't help us find Sydney, you can come back here," Jill pressed. I searched her eyes, and she added, "I promise. One week. If we don't figure out a plan and get closer to finding Sydney, you come back."

"I … I need a day before going to Court," I replied. Jill started shaking her head. "The apartment. I can't just leave it. I have five days—one day—to get my things out of there."

"It's just stuff, Adrian. Like my things at Amberwood, they don't matter."

They mattered to me. I'd never had anything that was truly my own until I moved into that apartment. It felt as if my life hadn't even started until I moved into it. Earlier today, I thought I would only have five days to savor and say goodbye to the place. Now, I would have even less.

"Escape plan number one," Jill murmured, "you get new things with Sydney. Together, you start fresh. Build your lives together, to one another."

I smiled sadly. She made it sound so simple. It _was_ simple, not outlandish or specific, and it was exactly what I wanted.

One side of Jill's mouth quirked. "Along with a pirate hat, I bet Wolfe here has a license or is ordained. He can preside over the destination wedding, and you and Sydney can have the best-looking, smartest, and wittiest dhampirs with the best hair ever."

I huffed a small laugh and looked around. Eddie's face was guardian stone, but his eyes shone with approval and encouragement. There was a spark of sadness—pity, too. He understood how hard the choice was. The love of my life or the one I saved. Neil's eyes were enormous. What a way to learn the truth, but he nodded once, showing his support. And Wolfe … he had little grin on his face.

"Sounds good to me," the old man said, shrugging. "I don't know about the best hair ever, but you kids these days do have weird tastes. Now, let me show you something else to help put you at ease. I wouldn't have asked you to come here otherwise."

He turned around and played another video, blowing our minds as much as he did with the other two tapes and the fact I didn't do my hair. The man actually had a cutlass and knew how to use it.

* * *

**_* Court, here we come! Well, after Sydney's POV. Are you as excited as I am? Let me know what you think. Review? I don't write for them, but they really are magic and appreciated._**


	6. Chapter 6 —Sydney

...

**Chapter Six**

**Sydney**

"Repeat the words again, Sydney."

I gritted my teeth. "My father is the best parent my sister could ever have, that anyone could."

"Again, without the glare."

Closing my eyes, I breathed in deeply. _Patience, Sydney. You can repeat the sentence ten, twenty, fifty more times. It doesn't mean it's true._ But I was going on number six, and already my brain felt as if it would explode.

I exhaled and opened my eyes, smiling sweetly. "My father is the best parent my sister could ever have, that _anyone_ could."

"Better," said the synthesized female voice. "Say it again."

Nerves grated, I wanted to claw at my flesh to the bone and then burst out of my body. But I repeated the phrase. Four more times. By the twelfth round, I was close to snapping at the faceless, brainless person on the other side of the frosted-over window. A word or phrase repeated soon lost its meaning, in case she weren't aware. Although … I couldn't recall if that applied to the listener or the speaker.

_The listener_, I remembered after a moment.

But surely the effect could be applied to both. I was becoming desensitized, as was the Alchemists' goal. Reiterating became more habitual, to the point I didn't need to be told, "_Again_," and my feelings curbed with each new phrase and the more times I echoed it.

After two-dozen circuits of twenty-something rounds, I sighed and slumped against the wall. I no longer cared about semantics, psychological phenomenon, and playing the monkey. I just wanted to be done and didn't know when that would be. I never saw the "materials" Jared had left for me. They were simply studied with the Alchemists' unfortunate minion of the day—or hour.

I wasn't sure how much time passed or how long each session lasted. It had to have been a significant amount. It felt as if I hadn't slept, and I was parched, my mouth sandy, lips cracked.

I eyed the sink and scratched my arm. The Band-Aid that covered the crease at my elbow was a reminder of what happened every time I drank from the faucet. I would pass out and wake up with a new nick from where the Alchemists had drawn more of my blood. They'd done it twice already, and they probably would have to pump fluids into me next because I was dehydrated.

For the first time since I became an Alchemist and was tattooed, I had a cold, too. Along with the compulsion, the benefit of vampire blood in the golden lily that boosted my immune system had worn off. As I wiped my runny nose with a heavy hand, the voice reminded me what this meant to the organization.

"You're sick, Sydney."

"I know." _I'm not sick in the way you mean, though._

"You should listen to your body. Darkness has corrupted you—corrupts you still, inside and out. It must be purged."

More phrases that were getting old and had lost their meaning. I stayed silent.

I wasn't even aware I was nodding off until the voice startled me. "You agreed to cooperate, Sydney. Need we remind you what is at stake?"

My heartbeat picked up. I shook my head. _No._

"Confess," pressed the voice. "Say, 'I am sick. I have sinned against my own kind and let my soul become corrupted. I am ready to have the darkness purged.' "

Those words, though used in the previous statements and repeated continuously, did not lose their weight in that order. And I prayed they never would. If they did, it meant I was truly lost—like Keith who recited the disturbing phrases without emotion, as though they really meant nothing to him. As though he, the speaker, wasn't even aware of saying them.

But I was conscious, so conscious of what it meant to say them and what it would mean if I didn't. I either lose my mind and my own sense of free will or my friends lose their lives. Two of my greatest fears, and one was more a guarantee than the other.

"I … I am sick," I rasped out. Each syllable sounded ripped from my throat and built in an intensity that made my chest heave and me want to vomit. "I have sinned against my own kind and … and let my soul become corrupted. I—I am ready to have the darkness purged."

Silence reigned.

I collapsed onto my side, shaking. _Oh, God, what have I done?_ It felt as if I was giving up, but I wasn't. I _wasn't_. I was fighting in the only way I could. I weighed the facts and data. I calculated the odds. Miniscule as they were, they were in my favor. My friends barely stood a chance. At least I knew what was coming. They didn't. And I knew—the Alchemists could make me say the words, but they could never make me believe in them.

Then why did it feel like I was trying to convince myself?

Finally, the voice spoke. "Good. That's good, Sydney. Your body is already reacting, trying to shed the vile darkness. We can help, and you will be rewarded."

Light punctured my dark cell. I cried out and covered my eyes.

"Open your eyes, Sydney," the voice coaxed, not commanding or cold for once. "See what you can have."

Tentatively, through my fingers, I noticed the light was muted and coming from a small source. Behind Adrian's cross. A sob escaped me at the sight. It was so beautiful—the delicate blue morning glories painted on the wood, the fine chain draped behind it. I hadn't seen for a long while, not since the Alchemists realized I wouldn't confess just to hold it and had stopped looking at it.

Using the wall for support, I stood on shaky legs and lurched around to reach the symbol that held everything I believed in—the power of faith, love, life. Adrian. I ran my fingers over the glass that allowed me to look into the compartment in which the pendant laid, suddenly aching to touch the wood and cling to it.

I traced the edges of the clear box in the wall, trying to find a way to open compartment.

There wasn't, and my brows furrowed. They said I could have the necklace. _No, they implied it._

"You have a choice to make, Sydney," said the voice. I glanced around frantically, not liking the sound of that. "You can either have your cross, or you can shower—in a real stall, with warm water. You'll also get a clean cup of water and some food."

I scowled. What kind of choice was that? Spiritual substance or physical need. I wondered what the Alchemists were trying to achieve and what either of my answers would tell them. My mind warred with my heart as I stared longingly at the memento and as my mouth watered. My lips trembled when I made my decision and ran another hand over the glass.

Then I stepped away. I had to be practical.

"All right," the voice intoned. "Jamie will escort you to the stall. As a sign of our goodwill, we will not bind you. But do not try anything foolish, Sydney. You will regret it."

I clenched my jaw and nodded once. As the overhead lights came on, I casted one fleeting look at the cross before it was doused in darkness.

My cell door opened. I stepped away in shock, my back colliding with a wall as I covered myself as much as possible. "But … but he's male!" I cringed at my redundant syntax and at the new, harsh degradation the Alchemist wanted to subject on me further.

"Do you want your shower and meal or not?" asked the voice.

I glowered.

"Unless you do something reckless, Jamie will not touch you. He will not even help you walk."

Studying Jamie, I took in his average height and a muscular build that his button-up couldn't completely hide. His stance was loose but alert, hands relaxed and hanging at his sides, legs braced, and spine straight but not stiff. His blond, wavy hair skirted the Alchemist standard of a crew cut, softening features that were simply unmemorable save for a widow's peak and the hint of a dimple in his cheek opposite of the golden lily tattoo.

I finally dared a glance at his eyes. I inhaled sharply. Peacock green irises stared above my head, but most startling of all was the blankness of them. Set in another face, they would have been my worst nightmare. I blinked away tears as well as the image of Adrian dead or forever lost in his own mind.

And with that, I realized why the Alchemists chose Jamie. Another test. Another torture tactic.

"All right," I croaked and raised my chin.

Gathering what remaining strength I had, I stepped forward. I didn't make it two steps before I faltered and landed hard on a knee, sending a jarring jolt up my leg and hip, scraping skin against cement. Jamie didn't flinch or make a move to help me, which was a little reassuring, if not also a bit disturbing because of the vacancy his eyes.

Staggering to my feet, I wondered if he could even stop me if I tried to escape, but I wasn't willing to chance it … yet. Still wary of him and another trick, I eased closer to the exit, where Jamie stepped aside to let me through.

A long hallway wasn't found on the other side like I had expected. Rather, it was an antechamber that had a door in each of the four walls. Unlike the one to my cell and another that was open to the shower across the way, the other two doors were closed. All four had keycard _and_ code locks. There was also the ever-present dark bubble camera set in the ceiling.

Jamie backed farther away, keeping himself between me and the door that I now knew was the most important—to a hallway. I took my time shuffling to the shower, trying but failing to cover my body, as I barely stayed upright. It was a large stall, half as big as my cell and more of a wet room. A camera pointed at where I was to wash. I cared, but my humiliation was complete. Physically, I no longer had anything to hide.

I kept an eye on the entrance as I pulled the water knob. Cold water sprayed. I quickly swished it around my mouth and spit twice before drinking greedily. The pressure was better than the hose the Alchemists had used on me in the past, and the temperature soon turned warm. I sighed in delight and turned the water hotter.

"You have four minutes, Sydney," said the synthesized voice overhead.

Body quaking, knees weakening, I grabbed the sliver of soap that would serve as my shampoo and body wash. No conditioner, and probably not even a brush later.

Before I could start washing, Jamie came into the stall. I flinched and almost dropped the soap. But he stayed just inside, next to the door, his still eyes blank and directed above my head. I had no doubt he could see me in the edges of his vision, though.

Keeping my back toward him as much as possible, I watched him as I lathered up, my heart pounding from fear and the need to hurry. He stayed completely motionless. I washed out my hair and blinked rapidly, unwilling to close my stinging eyes.

And then as I continued to heed his presence, I noticed he _was_ moving. His finger tapped a beat on his leg opposite of the door—of the cameras. I swallowed and kept my nervous expression, which wasn't hard, but I had to work to hold back my surprise.

Morse code.

I refused to glance at the all-seeing bubble in the ceiling or stare directly at Jamie's hand. I let my eyes roam him while I counted the dots and dashes in my periphery. My mind worked overtime as I tried to keep up with my charade, frantic showering, and deciphering. Jamie skipped vowels to save time. His left cheek twitched twice. When I was sure he was repeating the message for the third time, I got it.

_RBN HD SNDS RGRDS N HLP. YR FRNDS SFLY T RYL MR CRT. MRRY MN THNK Y. _

I wanted to cry.

"Sydney." The synthesized voice echoed in the space, and I did drop the dime of soap this time from surprise.

I smacked the knob. The water shut off, along with my tumultuous emotions thankfully. A part of me was dismayed from not being able to enjoy my first real shower in weeks, but the news I received was worth it.

Surprisingly, a towel was provided on a tiny hook welded into the wall. It was a no bigger than a hand towel, but I wouldn't be shivering later. I dried as best as I could and with what little dignity I had with Jamie in the room. I had always aimed to be a size two instead of a four, and now I noted with sardonic bitterness that I would probably be swimming in it, my ribs and hipbones prominent, stomach concave, and legs without an ounce of fat.

Finished, I wrapped my arms around me and hunched my shoulders, using the tiny towel above my thighs.

The voice commanded, "Leave it."

I let the terry cloth slip to the soaked tile. Crossing the threshold, edging around Jamie as far as possible and not looking at him, I tapped the back of my arms, over and over again: _TY_. I loathed text speak, could never find myself to do it. Funny that I did it now with frantic zeal.

Once I was back in my cell, I glanced at Jamie's eyes that were so green and reminded me of Adrian's. They were still empty, giving away nothing. I hoped mine didn't either as I shuddered and averted my gaze. Jamie closed the door. I slid down the wall, loneliness and excitement warring inside me as the message replayed in my head.

_Robin Hood sends regards and help. Your friends safely at (to) Royal Moroi Court. Merry Men thank you._ Followed by the twitch of a cheek with the Alchemist tattoo. Jamie's meaning was clear—he wore the invisible salt ink that I created to negate the compulsion in the original tattoo.

I wanted to laugh at the names; Marcus obviously picked them up from Adrian, and it was sure sign the message was no trick from the Alchemists. I wanted to sob in relief and happiness that my friends were safe, as well as cry in regret for not getting the salt tattoo myself. I wanted to smile at the thought that I outsmarted the Alchemists with my formula and rejoice that there were people with it, that a friend knew where I was, and that help was near.

I did none of these things, of course. The Alchemists were suspicious enough.

The lower slot in the door opened. My stomach grumbled as a paper bowl and cup were slid through. I pulled the food and water toward me eagerly. Although I was ravenous, I took my time eating, being sure to chew thoroughly after I sniffed each bite. Unexpectedly, the roll was fresh and the broth had teeny bits of chicken, vegetables, and rice. No surprise that utensils weren't provided. I used the bread sparingly to help sop up the soup before lifting the bowl to my mouth.

I saved the water for last. They might have claimed it was clean of drugs, but I would rather enjoy all of my food first if that weren't the case. Even then, I sipped it.

"Feel better, Sydney?" asked the voice.

_Much_, I thought, despite how my stomach clenched, protesting at being filled for once. I nodded and watched as I swirled the water in the cup. It was nearly full. I had only taken a couple small swallows and didn't experience any effects.

"It feels nice to be cleansed and have something pure, does it not?" the voice prodded further. "Continue toward the path of redemption, Sydney. Save your mind, body, and soul. Say, 'I am sick. I have sinned against my own kind and let my soul become corrupted. I am ready to have the darkness purged.' "

As I proceeded to stare at the clear liquid, my doubts and worries dissipated some. I became more resolved to what needed to be done. Although I was drained, I was also invigorated. It was only a matter of time before Marcus or his Merry Men helped me. Until then, I would play the Alchemists' mind game, learn what I could, and hopefully help others break away.

I finished the cup of water and repeated the words. "I am sick. I have sinned against my own kind and let my soul become corrupted. I am ready to have the darkness purged."

The words still had weight and meaning but lacked power over me this time. The strength of them was gone unless I allowed its influence. I had to remember that.

A moment later, the lower slot in the door opened again. Another reward—and incentive—was pushed through. A blanket. I grabbed it and placed my empty bowl and cup by the closed slot in exchange. Only when I was wrapped in wool and curled up on the other side of the room again did the slot open once more for my trash.

Warm, sated, and clean, I allowed my body to relax and gave in to exhaustion, which wasn't produced by drugs. It made me optimistic about the possibility of a spirit dream with Adrian.

But before I could sink into sleep, the voice announced, "You have a visitor, Sydney."

I barely succeeded in holding back a growl. I didn't want to see Jared Sage—or anyone, for that matter. I wanted, _needed_, sleep. Of course the Alchemists knew that and would push it to their advantage. Mental re-conditioning worked best if you broke the mind and psyche first.

I didn't stand or even open my eyes to acknowledge my visitor. Jared could talk all he wanted, and unless the custody hearing was today, I didn't have to listen to him.

It wasn't his voice that greeted me, though. It was one more alarming and that I never wanted to hear again until I could bring the owner down.

I slowly raised my head. Shock, fear, confusion, and extreme dislike wracked havoc inside me. The frost from the window that also served as a one-sided mirror had cleared. On the other side stood the man I hadn't seen in months. His sharp blue eyes and a calm disposition that was more intimidating than soothing made him distinguishable from other old men. And with his long, salt-and-pepper beard, he was still recognizable without the old-fashioned golden ceremonial robes.

Zebulon Jameson.

As one of highest officials to a group of human vampire hunters known as the Warriors of Light, he was not someone easily forgotten if you were enmeshed in all sides of our secret society. Unlike the Alchemists, the Warriors of Light's ultimate goal was to kill all vampires, not just Strigoi.

But he and his primitive group didn't have the resources, which was why he wanted to remerge the Alchemists and Warriors of Light into the single group they had been before different agendas and priorities broke them apart in the Middle Ages.

The Alchemists supposedly kept an eye on the gun-toting zealots but had no interest in hearing them out. For my so-called initiation test into Marcus's group, I had stolen a file of video stills that proved that that info wasn't entirely accurate. One of the Alchemists directors had met with Jameson at least once. It was worrisome to Marcus and me since we were friends with Moroi and dhampirs, but we hadn't found further proof the Alchemists were working with the Warriors of Light.

Until now.

"I said hello, Miss Sage." Jameson cocked his head to the side. "I thought you had more manners than to ignore your superiors."

I could feel the horror in my face.

The twitch of his beard and glint in his eyes alerted me of his smile before I saw it. "Well, as you are here to be re-educated, that can't be true, can it?"

I snapped out of my shock and, tightly holding on to my blanket, tried to stand. _Tried_ being the keyword. My arm and legs gave out from under me. My mind went woozy.

"Wha …" I mumbled with numb lips and tongue. The water and food had been clean. The voice said so.

"That would be the drug's delayed release," Jameson pointed out. "Your cup was clean, not the water."

I thought back to what the voice promised. _You'll also get a clean cup of water and some food. _Not "a cup of clean water." I was so stupid to trust and assume. I should have paid better attention at the order of words, but after repeating so many today, I hadn't.

Hatred burned through me. The Alchemists played me. They were making a huge mistake by joining with Jameson and the Warriors. And he not only heard what the voice had said to me, he had probably seen me naked, too.

I attempted to lift my head and glare at him, but my eyes and head grew heavy. Before I fell into black, the word Jameson used replayed in my head again and again.

_Superior. _My _superior._

* * *

_*** Dun, dun, dun. What could the Alchemists possibly be thinking? Are they thinking at all? *mischievous grin* Seems Marcus's is, though. One of his plans and recruits is bearing fruit. Let me know your thoughts? I love hearing from you. Thanks again for the reviews. They each mean a lot to me. **_

_**Also, I have a poll at the top of my profile on word count. Just wondering if you have a preference. I'm trying to be conscious of them, but sometimes words run away with me. (Kinda like this A/N.) **_

_**Next up—Court. And it's a long one!**_


	7. Chapter 7 — Adrian

_*lights on* Thanks again for all the love. This isn't the long chapter I thought. I had written it weeks ago, so my memory was off and I confused it with another. Hope you enjoy this one. It made my heart ache a little, writing it. *lights off*_

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

**Adrian**

As our plane circled the Moroi Royal Court, preparing to land, I took a fortifying gulp of juice and tried to calm my nerves. Most of it stemmed from worry over Sydney, Wolfe, and Jackie. Though I knew better, leaving Palm Springs felt as if I was abandoning them. The city was another connection Sydney and I shared that I had to say goodbye to, and it was closer to where we believed she was being held.

As I had tried to connect with her during the flight without success, I felt farther from her than ever.

Before we left, Wolfe told me he would use his own resources to search for her. He assured me he would call with updates and that he would okay. After he revealed he had killed a few Strigoi himself and showed us a video of him with a few of his buddies decapitating the Strigoi that had been at his property the night before, I didn't doubt him for a second.

Still, I felt guilty for leaving him and Sydney's teacher to the possibility of more danger. Strigoi were no longer the only threats. The Alchemists were grouped with those monsters now.

Also, Wolfe was helping me further by packing up my apartment and moving my stuff into his basement. I hadn't even known he was planning it until I boarded the plane and received the text. Because he'd agreed to the safekeeping of the Ivashkinator while I was away and had dropped off Angeline and me at the airport, the old man had my keys.

I was indebted to him for that alone, even though—or maybe more aptly, _especially _because—when I had called him to say it wasn't necessary, he had said, _"Son, learn how to accept help from those who care,_" before he hung up.

Holding on to those words, I thought of the other cause of my nerves: The old gang here at Court, particularly Lissa and Rose. Before Palm Springs, they were the two people I was closest to and could count on besides my late aunt. Rose had broken my heart, but really, I had grown apart from her and Lissa. Too much had happened over the past year. We lived on opposite sides of the country, each leading different lives with different priorities. And I … I had been forever changed without their knowing.

They didn't know I had fallen in love and that Sydney, a human, was it for me. Our relationship was the worst of the distasteful and forbidden. I didn't know how Lissa and Rose would react. Would they help us? I thought so. But _could_ they with all their responsibilities? Last I'd checked, Lissa couldn't get any information from the Alchemists. She had the point that they couldn't tell each other's people what to do, and while the Alchemists and Moroi worked together, they weren't obligated to answer to one another.

I couldn't just sit around and do nothing for the next week, though, and I needed to use every connection I could. Telling Lissa and Rose the truth could help spur them to do more. Additional heads thinking of a way to get Sydney back couldn't hurt either. But was I ready for their scrutiny and barrage of questions, as well as Sydney's ire and discomfort from them knowing and her not being a part of the decision?

There was only one way to find out.

The plane door opened. Stopping The Marshall Tucker Band in the middle of _Can't You See_, I pocketed my earbuds and phone before I grabbed my duffle. Despite Jill's protests, I'd dropped by my apartment one last time for clothes, a jacket, some books, and to say goodbye to the place. I still felt torn up and raw inside over it.

As Eddie and Neil descended the steps, an arm slid around one of my own and squeezed. I looked down at Jill. She wasn't looking at me. She stared ahead, shoulders back and chin up, ready to take on the world. She smiled at that thought and began leading us down the stairs.

"We're going to get her back, Adrian. I'm going to make sure you believe it before the week is out." She glanced up at me, eyes glowing with promise. When she looked away, her expression hardened. "Even if it's the last thing I do."

I followed her gaze. Dozens of guardians stood patrol on the tarmac. Although the hour was late—which I suddenly remembered was the middle of the day for the Moroi—a crowd had gathered, wanting to see what all the fuss was about and getting a surprise: The Dragomir Princess's return. I steeled my spine and flexed my arm harder around Jill's.

I hadn't forgotten there were rebels against Lissa's rule. It was another thing I worried over during the flight. The traitors could be standing amidst the throng now, and I'd be damned before they hurt Jill again. Speeding up, I practically dragged her with me. Screw trying to appear regal.

"Adrian!" she squeaked.

I ignored her and the murmurs that floated up. People wondering if we were dating. Some whispering in reply that we had tried to elope. Others claimed we fell in love at St. Vladimir's and that mine and Rose's relationship was just a cover-up. I rolled my eyes at that last one. Jill was a minor, then and still. I guessed my depravity knew no bounds in the Moroi's eyes.

As we reached the ground, my gaze landed on Rose. Her eyes were narrowed and flashed with a ferocity that told me she could hear the rumors as well and was barely resisting pummeling someone. Worry suddenly lined between her brows as she refocused and took me in. I looked like shit, I knew. I certainly felt it.

I crooked a smile at her. "Little dhampir."

Her expression softened. "Adrian. You haven't called me that in a while." Bowing her head, she greeted Jill just as affectionately and with humor. "Princess."

Jill inclined her head, playing along. "Guardian Hathaway."

They chuckled, and Rose said hello to Angeline, who was still grumpy about leaving her boyfriend and the warmer Palm Springs weather. I turned to the man standing next to Rose. A year ago, the Russian guardian who held Rose's heart wouldn't have gotten more than a sneer from me, but now, I reached out to shake his hand and nodded.

"Belikov."

He didn't smile—it wasn't his style, and he _was_ on duty—but his eyes were warm. "Ivashkov."

My smile grew. I was glad he dropped my title of _lord_. In a weird way, it showed he respected and regarded me with more than guardian obligation.

"Let's get away from my fans, shall we?" I started toward the Royal palace, still holding Jill's arm and keeping her near.

A dozen guardians surrounded us. No doubt, Rose and Dimitri had handpicked each one. I nodded at a few familiar faces—Mikhail Tanner, Hans Croft, Serena Durant, Tamara Webber. They stayed with my friends and me as bags were handed over to the other half of our escorts who then left to take our things to our assigned rooms. As we reached the doors of the large media room in the queen's residence, only Rose and Dimitri followed us inside. Lissa, who had been pacing while reading a stack of papers, stopped and turned at our entrance.

"Adrian!" Dressed stately in a sharp, long-sleeved dress of viridian green, she embraced me as if she weren't the queen but simply my friend.

I hugged her. "Hello, cousin."

"You had me worried. I still am." Her slight trembling revealed she was more scared. She let me go and looked at Jill. Reaching for her hands uncertainly, she squeezed them and asked, "Are you all right?"

At Jill's nod, Lissa hugged her and couldn't see her sister's reaction—surprise, alarm, and something like hope. Jill tentatively patted her back. "I'm fine."

As the pair pulled away, they grew awkward. It was the first sisterly affection shown between them, and they didn't seem to know what to do next. There was no manual for their relationship—one sister a queen, the other the illegitimate daughter of a man who wasn't known to her and had only been adored by the other. Add that one's sovereignty threatened yet was dependent on the life of the other … well, the situation was AFU and in no way normal.

"I'm glad you're here," Lissa said, recovering quickly. She meant it as she gazed at Jill and then peered around at the rest of my group. "And that you're all safe."

Neil swept her an over-the-top bow I was expecting but that still had me snorting. Angeline nodded with wide eyes, unusually silent. Unlike them, Eddie grinned and seemed to know that Lissa would hug him as well if he weren't on "duty"—technically he wasn't. That was Eddie, vigilant even out of uniform.

"It's good to see you too, Liss," he said.

That was enough for her. She relaxed and smiled wider before gesturing to the couches. As we shrugged off our coats and were about take a seat, the doors opened. Christian Ozera strode in.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, breathless. "The trainees are royal pains in my ass."

He kissed Lissa on the cheek. As he turned to my group, the sinking sensation I usually had from seeing him swelled up within me. His pitch-black hair and icy blue eyes reminded me so much of his aunt, Tasha Ozera. It was hard not to reimagine the scene of her driving a stake into my aunt's chest.

But the old pang of panic and grief had become easier to push down. By the time Christian reached to greet me, I could remember that I really liked the smartass, though I would never tell him that. I smirked and shook his hand. "Trainees? What could you possibly teach anyone? Besides how to bake, that is."

Instead of the retort I expected, he blinked and glanced at Lissa. "Oh. I'm, uh … I'm teaching offensive magic and defensive techniques to willing Moroi."

"Ah." What his aunt had fought for in court before being convicted. It was ironic because my aunt had secretly coordinated trial groups of the same exact thing before she was murdered by his aunt. Now I understood why he was uncomfortable, and he probably thought Lissa would've mentioned it to me. I slapped him on the shoulder to reassure him. "That's good to hear. Our people are finally getting smart, and you're getting your ass beat."

He snorted. I could see the relief—and challenge—in his eyes. "You should come out sometime. We'll see how long your hair lasts aflame."

"He's not wearing any product," Jill said, jumping in with a grin. "So it may or may not last longer than usual. And he has been getting some physical training."

I threw her a look that said, _Really?_ I knew she was playing up the changes in me, but did it have to be those?

Everyone but Jill and Eddie stared, slack jawed. Christian plopped next to Lissa. Rose and Dimitri traded glances and sat down slowly on the arm on either side of them. Angeline's wide eyes, I suspected, were stuck in permanent awe and surprise. Neil raised a brow, his suspicion confirmed.

I ran a hand through my hair. "No need to be jealous. I know it looks good. You guys didn't even notice the difference."

"Okay." Lissa leaned forward. "What's really going on? And I don't just mean your—your hair, Adrian. What happened back in Palm Springs with the Strigoi? Why did I have to keep it quiet from the Alchemists and tell them I need Jill here?" She spared her sister a glance. "Not that I don't. I actually have news and was going to call you as soon as it was officially announced."

"You first," I said. "I'm sure your news is better than ours, and we—_I_ have a lot to tell you."

Lissa nodded. "The debates took longer than we expected, but we finally voted on the family quorum earlier today." She smiled at Jill. "And the vote passed. You can come home."

Jill's breathing hitched. "Really?"

Christian nodded, his fangs showing as he smiled. "Yes. Really."

Jill lit up and grabbed my arm, not quite believing the news yet. I knocked my shoulder into hers. "You can finally see your mom."

"I know!" She laughed and wiped her watering eyes. Then she stood and reached out to Lissa, who put her hands in her sister's and allowed herself to be pulled up. Jill didn't let go. "Thank you. I know … I know it couldn't have easy. But you did it. You changed our law. You changed history. Again!"

Lissa's eyes glistened. She choked up, her smile quivering and throat visibly working to swallow as words seemed to fail her. I knew it was at hearing what a legacy she was leaving as much as her sister being so open and appreciative of her.

"Can we have my mom come here?" Jill asked. "I'd like to stay if that's okay."

"Jill—" I didn't want her to feel as though she had to stay for my sake, and while I was sure many expected and preferred her at Court for her protection, she didn't have to live here. I knew she had wanted to return to St. Vladimir's.

She shook her head at me. "It's not really either."

I noticed her hands tighten around Lissa's. When Jill nodded once, so did I. "Okay, Jailbait."

"Well," Lissa said, voice dry, "the force-ful bond is strong with these two."

Christian and I snorted at her lame attempt to quote _Star Wars_.

Lissa ignored us and continued. "Of course your mom and you can. I'd like that, as well. But we haven't made the verdict public knowledge yet, so just be sure that until the announcement, you keep it between yourselves when you tell her. "

I frowned. "Are you expecting something to happen, cousin?"

"I'm sure there will be some outrage." Lissa smirked ruefully and sat down. "I am changing traditions that we've had for centuries—and too quickly, in many people's opinions. You know how the royals are about their customs and conventions."

I did. One in particular.

"What is it, Adrian?" Rose asked, voice soft.

She'd been watching me closely since we sat down. I could feel her eyes now as I stared down at my hands. When one of Jill's came into view, covering mine, I peered up at her. Her features were encouraging, beseeching. "_Centrum permanebit_," she murmured.

In my periphery, I saw Eddie move before I felt him clasp my shoulder.

I swallowed. It was time to man up.

I didn't have to look to know Neil moved closer behind me, and though Angeline didn't know what was coming, she knew what was happening. Joining the support, showing a united Palm Springs front, she moved to sit on the floor, right next to my legs.

Overwhelmed and so, so nervous, I closed my eyes and let out a shaky breath.

"Adrian?" Lissa prodded. I lifted my head. Like everyone's on the other side of the coffee table, her brows were furrowed. Worried eyes darted to the faces around me.

"I—" I didn't know where to start, so I reverted to my typical flippancy—stalling, really. "The world can continue to turn. I'm not dying, if that's what you're thinking." _I only feel like I am._

None of them relaxed.

Rose snapped first, of course. She flew to her feet, fists clenched at her sides. "Adrian!"

"We have a favor to ask," Jill started. "We need your help."

"_I_ need your help," I corrected. "_Sydney_ needs it."

"What …" Rose eased to sit back down, perplexed like everyone else beside her.

"Sydney's in one of the Alchemist's re-education centers," I said.

Rose inhaled sharply. "Are you sure? How do you know?"

"Wait," Christian interrupted. "What's a re-education center?"

"It's a correctional facility," I explained. "Where the Alchemists send their members who deviate from their ethics to be re-educated, corrected." The men's faces darkened at that; they grasped what I didn't say. "Hardly anyone knows where any of the centers are located and what exactly happens there."

"I hadn't even heard of it until Abe mentioned the place once by name," Rose added. "I know now that it's what Sydney was _terrified_ of."

I nodded. "She had every reason to be. The people who return from there aren't the same. The Alchemists coerce, _torture_." Rose and Lissa paled. Rose opened her mouth, but I answered before she could ask again. "And I know this and the fact that Sydney's there because I visited her in a spirit dream recently—finally. She's been heavily drugged, so I couldn't connect with her. But when I did, she couldn't conjure … _anything_. It was as bad as when I had visited you while you were in Russia, Rose."

I didn't clarify that I meant when she had been Dimitri's blood whore, allowing him to drink her blood—another taboo, one common between Moroi and dhampirs but equally shameful as the rest. It was worse because Dimitri hadn't been a Moroi but Strigoi.

Rose understood what I implied, though. She swallowed and looked away. Dimitri blanched; he could remember his Strigoi days, and the memories still haunted him.

"You're off the mood stabilizers?" asked Lissa. She seemed hopeful of this fact. Spirit users were rare, and the magical element was the key to reverting Strigoi. I'd also been the only one to suspend the element in Olivia's blood so it could be used in the tattoo to stop Strigoi conversion altogether. Although Lissa understood why I'd taken medication to cut me off from spirit, she still wanted my help. Yet, looking at her now, she was more confused than pleased, and if her aura and lip-biting were any indications, she also felt guilty.

"I am off the medication," I replied but didn't say aloud, _Until Sydney's found_. I wasn't sure that was case yet and didn't want the possibility to influence Lissa or anyone in helping me find her.

"What'd she do, Adrian?" whispered Rose. "The Alchemists wouldn't send her there without a reason, if they didn't think she needed 'correcting,' right? Was it because of me—you know, when she helped me?"

Sydney had helped Rose in evading the law when she had been wrongfully accused of killing my aunt. Sydney hid her and Dimitri, moving them from one location to another, driving them as well as another convict around to find Sonya Karp, who had been a Strigoi restored during the trip. Eventually, Sydney had helped them all find the piece that gave Lissa legitimacy to the throne—Jill.

God, my girlfriend was a badass.

"No," I said, shaking my head. "It wasn't because of you, little dhampir. It was because of me."

Rose was taken aback. "What? How—"

"I love her." I spread my hands out helplessly, as if I could somehow encompass what I felt and show how powerless I was against it. "I'm _in_ love with her. I have been. She and I have been together since December, though I knew I loved her before then."

To say they were stunned would have been an understatement. They were dumbstruck, which wasn't a surprise. I was our society's bad boy, the deviant, the senseless favorite of my aunt, not one to pass up on women—even if she were jailbait, as people thought today—let alone capable of being a one-woman man. To find out I, a vampire, was devoted to and in love with a human—a religious Alchemist, no less—rocked the world as they knew it. And learning that Sydney loved me back enough to be with me was probably just as astounding.

Normally, I didn't care what anyone thought of me, but in this instance, I needed my friends' … not approval exactly but their understanding. I needed them to accept not only me but Sydney also. I needed them to accept and support _us_.

"My life didn't start until Sydney," I started, meeting their gazes in turns. "My life didn't matter—to me, to anyone. It didn't amount to anything. It held no meaning, and I didn't care. But when she came along, bold in her beliefs, in who she was and everything she does, impassioned by knowledge, learning, and the world and all it has to offer … I was inspired.

"She started as a tiny prick of light in the dark, that only grew bigger, brighter, drawing me to her. And I'm … I'm not that speck of black or darkness in her stark white life but a spot of color. Then, instead of simply wanting to bask and drink the other in, we helped each other grow, fueled one another. Now, now we're drowning, and I need your help. _We_ need it."

None of them said a word or even tried, still stunned and probably wary because it sounded like spirit's darkness talking. But it was the only way I could describe my and Sydney's relationship. It couldn't be defined with a set of events or a series of stolen moments. It couldn't be portrayed on one canvas or in a single snapshot or with a formula of personalities. It had to be felt, touched, heard, seen, and tasted—and it was a breathing, soft, resounding, blazing sweetness. One I needed.

The silence spoke volumes as it continued, and I couldn't look at anyone as my hopes plummeted. Jill clutched my arm as I moved to stand.

Then Dimitri spoke for the first time. "She's why you stopped smoking and drinking."

"And why you started taking the medication," concluded Christian. Then he sighed. "And made the meatloaf."

They weren't questions, but I nodded anyway. "In the beginning, yes. But I did it for me too. For us. I want a life with her, the possibility."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Rose demanded. "Tell _me_?"

"Come on, lit—"

"No. No!" She stood and pointed a finger at me. "I could've helped you, her. I _would_ have. I could've—" She winced.

I knew she was going to say "saved her." But Sydney wasn't dead, and Rose couldn't save everyone despite how much she wanted to. She would've been here, next to Lissa, where she belonged.

Also, I hated to admit it, but helping the Alchemists' best agent and once darling escape them would have been seen not as aiding but as just abetting, as bad as treason in their eyes, like in Marcus's case. If Rose had been involved, with how closely tied she was to our queen, it would have been seen as some kind of declaration from Lissa. It still would be. I hated politics but knew that much.

Appearances were everything. Relationships, even the hint of one, could tip a hand and change the scales as well as the stakes. We knew that, which was why Sydney and I—as well as Jill by default—had been so secretive. The gang and I learned it the hard way when Sydney had been taken. Everyone saw it now with my reveal, with the trapped look Lissa and I shared.

The Alchemists helped us keep our existence secret. The professional relationship was tenuous and strained enough. But Sydney wasn't some other Alchemist. She was the love of my life. She was one of us. My friends wanted to help yet didn't know how, and Lissa's throne, our people and race, and everything those signified were in the balance, needing to be weighed.

Changing history, indeed.

I couldn't ask it of them.

Shaking my head, I rubbed my face and stammered incoherently, wishing I had thought of all this beforehand, wishing the circumstances were different and that I could turn back time to when things were easier, simpler. But I was neither smart nor naïve. I wasn't so selfish or anything special or even religious to ask _why me_. I didn't want to change the course anyway because of the outcome—me with Sydney. And this wasn't St. Vlad's or high school. This was Court, where my old friends ran a nation.

My thoughts continued to spiral. Helplessness and panic swirled with hopelessness.

"Adrian?" A trickle of warmth touched my back, then my hand. I shuddered. "Adrian."

Rose's anxious face came into focus. One of her hands lay on my arm. Christian stood next to me with a palm on my back, and Lissa held my hand. Confused and flustered by their actions, I looked around. Jill was on the couch, shivering, eyes and jaw clenched shut, with Dimitri and Eddie hovering beside her. I wanted to go to her but couldn't find the urge or will to move.

"Adrian?"

My gaze swung back forward. "Little dhampir."

She sighed. "There you are."

"What—" I shuddered again. Lissa squeezed my hand, and I felt the pressure of a ring that wasn't mine around my finger. "What is this?"

"Help." Lissa smiled. Then her expression, normally serene, ironed with determination. "And I have an idea."


	8. Chapter 8 — Sydney

_* As always, I heart you all. Thanks for taking the time to read and review. Special thanks to CherrySlushLover for pointing out a typo in my summary. *hugs!*_

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

**Sydney**

"Hello, Sydney."

My head snapped up at the new, clear voice I didn't recognize. I was further surprised to see that not one but three people watched me from the other side of the window. They were all Alchemists, of course. They wouldn't be in this place otherwise. Or so I used to believe.

Jameson's appearance earlier had thrown me off. When I had woken, he was gone. I had wondered if it had been a hallucination induced by the drug the Alchemists had given me. A part of me wanted to believe that reasoning because the alternative was a terrifying. Another part of me warned that that was exactly what the Alchemists wanted—me to brush it off and blindly accept the easy answer; while the more suspicious, analytical side of me said they wanted me to question reality, my sanity.

My rational, logical side shoved that all aside. It didn't matter what they wanted or even what I did. I knew what I saw. Jameson had been here.

And unlike him, the three visitors I had now were born-and-breed Alchemists. Golden lilies shone on their left cheeks. A man and a woman sat with clipboards, their business attire in nondescript colors, their expressions indifferent with studious tilts of their heads. The third, a man with dark auburn hair, stood between them in a sharp suit, his hands clasped behind him. He studied me as well, but his face and demeanor were foreboding, not clinical. And he looked familiar.

When I stayed silent, he narrowed his eyes. "I'm Dale Hawthorne."

I inhaled sharply, instantly recognizing the name and placing him. Dale was one of the Alchemist directors—and the same one I saw meeting Jameson. I had never met the director before and didn't know what he looked like until I had seen those video stills that I had stolen for Marcus of an Alchemist facility's main entrance.

The director's appearance now told me two things: Jameson had indeed visited me earlier, and I was in trouble. Well, in bigger trouble, for more than I originally had been.

I started coughing, both out of sheer panic and my worsening cold.

"You should drink your water," Dale said when I finally finished and could breathe again—barely.

I glanced at the full cup by the door and shook my head. I wasn't falling for that trap again. I might have gotten some sleep, but I woke up being wheeled to another session of electroconvulsive therapy. When I roused from that, it took me a long while to calm down enough to go through more stretches of phrase repeating. I hadn't slept, eaten, or drank anything since and was just about to doze before Dale and the minions came.

"Suit yourself," muttered the director. He stepped closer to the window. "Tell me what you know about Marcus Finch."

The ex-Alchemist was brought up before, but I had never uttered a peep. Nor had I given any indication I recognized the name or that I even heard the voice say it. I wasn't a snitch either. I might not be an official member of Marcus's group, but that didn't mean I didn't completely support everything he was trying to achieve by freeing Alchemists.

I blinked and stared silently at Dale. His jaw clenched. His gray eyes, like storm clouds, grew colder.

"You agreed to cooperate. I suggest you do so before—"

"Marcus Finch," I started, interrupting the threat I knew was coming. "Male in his early twenties. Former Alchemist."

When I didn't continue, Dale stared in disbelief. "That's it?"

Well, I wasn't about to describe Marcus, inferring that I had seen and knew him, let alone mention that before I met him, Clarence had given me a picture of him.

The director gave me a patronizing smile. "Come now, Sydney. I know you were supposed to meet Marcus the night you were apprehended."

He lifted a clear baggie that held a cell phone. Adrian's Love Phone, I realized with unease.

"There's a text here from you—after you were mislead with a change in the meeting place. _'Marcus got in touch?'_ " Dale looked up from what he was reading, his smile a touch smug. "I believe the Moroi you were involved with called him 'Robin Hood' in previous texts." The director looked down. "Ah, yes, here it is. _'Robin Hood called. He's going to meet you at JT's, Sunday at 8pm.' _After which you texted back thanking the unnatural creature for setting it up, and the response indicated that Marcus thought everything should go through him, Ivashkov, just to be safe."

Dale dropped his arm. "That's incriminatory evidence and a good trail in a few texts, not only against you but also against Adrian Ivashkov and this 'JT' person. And we already have an idea on who _she_ is." He let that pointed pronoun and threat sit. "Now, start speaking."

"That would have been the first time I was to meet Marcus." The lie rolled smoothly and coolly.

The director studied me. "And the …" he glanced down "… _'stuff'_ you said you needed to bring to the meeting. What was that?"

"Money."

"You expect me to believe that?"

I shrugged. "The life of a rogue Alchemist must not be as profitable as well-organized criminal one."

He scoffed, not missing the jibe. "How did you come in to contact with him?"

"He found and contacted me." No hesitation. One of the keys to lying was to answer quickly.

"How?"

"I'm not sure." Keep the answer as vague as the question when necessary.

"When was the first time you spoke to Marcus?"

"A few months after my meeting with the Warriors of Light to release Sonya Karp." Add some truth when possible, too.

"Again, how—with what and where?"

"Again, I'm not sure. I assumed Marcus called Adrian since my number was unlisted." I hated to bring Adrian back into the conversation, but the implication was already made with his own texts. "And Marcus was obviously suspicious enough that he didn't want to chance calling me directly. I don't know the exact place or setting when he called. I wasn't with Adrian at the time."

Around and around the questioning went. Dale pressed for more specific details when my answers didn't satisfy him. Often, he inquired after the same information again but posed the questions differently at a later time to check if my responses contradicted or offered more. They didn't. I was tired and frustrated, but I was also driven.

The Alchemists failed to realize that they had given me purpose when they had threatened my friends. Fear was a great motivator. Instilling it would certainly make someone bend to another's will, but like a well-exercised muscle, I was strengthened by the back-bending and mind-drilling activity, and I wouldn't snap under the strain. If anything, it energized me.

The director was also good to not reveal information he wasn't sure I already knew. Although I anticipated the breaking of tattoos would be brought up, it was never mentioned. It was alluded to, however.

I sighed. "I don't understand why you keep asking me about Marcus's objectives and operations. I would think you'd ask the Warriors of Light high council. They would know since they met him." It might have been dangerous to bring that group into the interrogation, but I needed to cultivate the seeds of suspicion between them and the Alchemists.

"And how would you know the Warriors of Light have met Marcus?" asked the director.

"He was mentioned in the Warriors of Light arena before Sonya Karp was to be decapitated. It was actually Jameson—no, Angeletti who informed me that Marcus was a former Alchemist."

Dale paused to jot that down before he bandied back, "You once asked your superior, Donna Stanton, about Marcus and much earlier than before meeting with the Warriors of Light, as I recall."

Ignoring the twinge in my gut, I kept my face neutral. "Clarence Donahue. Not only did he bring vampire hunters—the Warriors of Light—to my attention, which I relayed to Ms. Stanton, he also said someone named Marcus Finch had helped him from the Warriors' attacks." The Alchemists already knew Clarence, his whereabouts, and his involvement because of the feedings setup in Palm Springs. That fact didn't make me feel any better, but I could feel guilty for bringing up the old Moroi later.

The director raised a brow. "And you simply concluded Marcus was an Alchemist?"

"Clarence mentioned Marcus had a tattoo on his left cheek. Different from mine," I added. "But he found the placement odd. I didn't discount the detail. I checked in with Ms. Stanton in the hopes she would either know Marcus or could find info on him. She said she had never heard of him." I sounded as bitter as I was and gave Dale a pointed glance; the Alchemists had been caught lying, as well. "Either way, I imparted what I gathered to my superior."

Moments passed as Dale considered me. I affected a calm air, which was interrupted with a coughing fit. Finally, the director said, "You're an exceptional liar, Sydney. But a powerless one. It's a shame, really. You could have climbed the Alchemists ranks to the top."

It was foolish of me, but I couldn't resist goading, "Now _that's_ self-incriminating. Are you saying all Alchemist directors are the best of liars?"

I couldn't believe I kept a straight face as I stared blankly at the director and watched his jaw tick. In my periphery, the other two Alchemists' eyes widened. Now they really thought I was crazy. I mentally patted myself on the back.

Without a retort, Dale gathered the materials in front of him, more forcefully than necessary. As the silence continued, my fatigue caught up with me. My mind was no longer engaged, and I felt all my body's aches. I licked my chapped lips, rubbed my eyes, massaged my temples, coughed.

"You really should drink some water, Sydney," insisted the director.

I didn't bother to shake my head. Too much energy, and he no longer paid me any attention. He held mine, though, as he demanded the other two Alchemists leave. After the door shut behind them, the director placed an all-too-familiar case on the table. My throat dried even more. My thoughts and pulse sped up. I was fully awake now.

Until a few months ago, I had owned only one special locked case. It held my Alchemist supplies needed for being in the field: A compound to dissolve a Strigoi body, mixtures to melt certain materials such as metal locks, substances to create diversions like a flash, or fusions to generate an aid in escape comparable to a dry-ice smoke screen, plus more ingredients for a dozen other things. They were all small samples and sanctioned by the Alchemists.

What was in my newer, second case was not.

Donning gloves and long-handled tweezers, Dale put on display numerous charms that I had made while under Ms. Terwilliger's tutelage. I might have laughed at the picture the director presented if I didn't have to remind myself to breathe slowly.

I wasn't sure what the Alchemists found more despicable about the vampires: Their need for blood or their connection to elemental magic. I assured myself that, with their abhorrence for the arcane and unexplainable, the Alchemists wouldn't see the charms as anything more than showy necklaces, trinkets of pretty stones, and pouches of wonderful smelling herbs that anyone could use in cooking. The vials of crushed rocks and liquid potions, however, might be harder to rationalize.

"It has come to our attention that your history teacher, Jaclyn Terwilliger, practices witchcraft. You spent a considerable amount of time with her, in and off school property, as well as beyond school hours." The director closed the case and set it aside. He gestured at all the paraphernalia. "Let's hear you explain this."

"I was her teacher's aide." My tone was disparaging. "Grading papers and researching sources for her book. More than anything, I was a glorified gofer. I fetched her coffee and supplies. I had no idea she was a witch." That last statement rang false in even my ears. I shook my head, hoping Dale took it as disbelief. "Are you even sure? Never mind. I don't want to know."

Once again, Dale's smile was patronizing. "And the case? Why was it in your room, under _your_ bed?'

"Ms. Terwilliger asked me to hold on to it after she'd left it in my car. I guess we both forgot about it."

"It's a rather large coincidence that the case is nearly identical to your primary one." He lifted the metal box, hefted it in his hands as if to test its weight. "Except for the size. This one is smaller, but the same brand and color. It must be sheer happenstance that you also had its key." He raised a baggie with said key and shook it.

All my hopes to justify the case were snuffed out. I sighed and closed my eyes, swallowing disappointment and resentment. I had no one to blame but myself. I didn't have to make any, let alone all, of those charms. I could have switched teachers if I really wanted to or dropped the TA position and accepted not receiving transcript credit. I could have ignored Ms. Terwilliger altogether.

I should regret participating in mystic hermetics, but I couldn't. Many of those charms and spells saved my life and those of whom I loved. I also knew, deep down, human magic was as much a part of me as alchemy was.

I might have gone into it kicking and screaming, unable to defy a teacher's authority and my over-achieving nature—that need to study and _know_ even against ingrained beliefs—but magic called to me on an instinctive level. The components needed and words said to conjure made sense, collectively speaking to me intellectually, elementally, and spiritually. The joy and serenity that swelled within, the connection I felt to something larger than myself, awed and inspired me. Magic didn't simply fill a hole I hadn't realized I'd been missing, but was more an extension of myself.

Even now, looking at the crystals on the table, I yearned to touch magic. I couldn't, of course. The materials were on the other side of the window, and the Alchemists were watching. Always watching. I didn't have the energy, either.

"Have you ever heard of the elixir of life, Sydney?"

I blinked and frowned at the director, wary and confused by the topic change. "Yes ... It's also known as the elixir of immortality or referred to as liquid gold."

Dale nodded and gestured for me to continue.

"There are multiple myths from various cultures. Like the name, the stories differ from a fountain to a cup or from an open spring to a well, but the premise stays the same. The drinker or bather receives eternal life or youth. Some believed the water or elixir could _create _life."

Dale kept motioning, clearly impatient and wanting me to say something specific. I had no idea what. He gave me no clue whatsoever. Surely, he knew the stories or had the means to read them if he didn't.

Then it dawned on me. He wasn't interested in the fables and legends but the _people_ connected to them. Not the gods, rulers, adventurers, or prophets. But the sorcerers—and the alchemists.

Incredulous and bewildered, I eyed the director. He was serious, very determined and eager. I wasn't sure where his question led or what he wanted me to deduce, but my doubt and disbelief quickly turned to caution and suspicion.

"Historically," I began, slow and careful, "throughout many periods and civilizations, alchemists were known to not only attempt to transform iron into gold or silver and create the Philosopher's Stone but also to seek the formula to the elix—"

An alarm blared. Dale smacked the intercom, cutting off the sound to my room. Red lights flashed on his side of the window, and he picked up the phone. I couldn't hear him, but he seemed to be barking in to the receiver. I watched his angry expression darken. He glanced at me. His eyes narrowed.

I stood. What was going on? If I wasn't mistaken, there was a fire or maybe a breakout. Or break-in. _Could it be? _

I scanned around me, searching for a sign to what was happening. Nothing. My cell stayed brightly lit, impenetrable to sound and inescapable with a door that had no knob and hinges, hardly a gap around the edges. The slots were closed and way too small. Not even skeleton me could fit through. I wouldn't have known anything was amiss if the director hadn't been interrogating me and the window hadn't been cleared.

Dale slammed the phone and then stood there watching me. No, he was watching my cell. A moment later, a brume of something unknown flowed into the room. The fog wafted from the ceiling and rose from floor, billowing around me.

Panic seized me. I banged on the window and screamed, "What's going on? What is that? Tell me!"

I breathed in and coughed. My eyes watered, from fear or the gas, I wasn't sure. I took a deep breath and held it. As I continued to hit the window, I knew I couldn't hold my breath for long. I began banging on the door and looking for a way to open the slots, though I knew it was hopeless. The vapor dissipated, yet I could see that it still blew in from the hidden vents.

I gasped for air, unable to stop instinct. I slid to the floor and tried to crawl to the middle of the room. My body collapsed, but at least I had a view of the window, of the man on the other side who authorized this, and he of me.

Dale Hawthorne just watched. I couldn't say he was unfeeling but more … vindictive.

My stomach clenched. My throat seemed to swell and close up. I could feel saliva pooling in mouth. I consciously couldn't move, but my muscles began to twitch. My frantic heartbeat sped before it began to slow. It was a terrifying feeling—to be so aware of everything with your body and powerless to stop it, to think, _I'm going to die. I _am_ dying. They're willing to kill me._

The Alchemist director left. I guessed he couldn't stomach what he sanctioned. And as my vision dimmed, I thought I saw green, green eyes and a beautiful, mischievous grin. It wishful thinking, I knew. My last thought and sight were clear enough. The eyes were sharp, cold blue and the smile was disturbingly triumphant.

* * *

**Note: **Cellphone texts from _The Fiery Heart_, Razorbill Publishing, US hardcover, pages 328–329, 384


	9. Chapter 9 — Adrian

_* You are each adored and appreciated, not only for reviewing but also for simply reading and following. _

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

**Adrian**

"We'll help get her out of there, Adrian," Lissa vowed with a nod. "But first, we have to help you."

"Is this one of those spirit-charmed rings?" I asked, rubbing the silver around my finger. "You weren't very good at making them if I remember correctly."

"I wasn't very efficient in making them," she corrected. "But there was nothing wrong with the ones I made. It just took me longer. Now I have Nina. She's one of the best and has been teaching me."

I remembered how Nina Sinclair had helped me direct spirit into one of the rings to keep the element contained in her restored sister's blood. She made it seem so simple that even I had caught on immediately.

Lissa steered me toward the couch opposite of Jill. Before I could sit, I shuddered again as warmth tingled down my spine. My head whipped to Christian next to me, his hand still on my back. "What are you doing? I'm not going to find a handprint singed in my hoodie, am I?"

One side of his mouth tipped up. "No, not today. I am lighting you up, but not in the way you think. For you, I'd guess it's more like basking in a non-lethal sun. I use it on Lissa when she's stressed and has a bad day. Normally with a back massage."

"Say no more," I said, sitting down. "I don't want to know the specifics. Except, how are you doing it? I'm guessing you're not using fire."

"You're right. I'm not." Facing me, he sat on the coffee table and clasped his hands together. "I was curious about something and experimented. After a lot of practice and fine-tuning, I found I could create light."

I suddenly thought of Sydney's God, how he had commanded, _Let there be light_, and there was. If the old Sydney had heard Christian, she would have jumped away and made the sign of the cross on her shoulder, outraged and terrified. The new Sydney would have pounced on Christian for answers, wanting specifics with that eager way of hers.

I was curious myself. It didn't make sense. "How? Fire is the element."

Christian's eyes gleamed. "What is fire but a conflagration of light, heat, and a reaction of chemicals or minerals? If I can control it as a whole, why not in parts?"

"Huh." Thinking of it that way, the new aspect to his ability made sense. Lissa and I could wield spirit but could also heal or spirit dream. We could see auras, and our compulsion was the strongest of the Moroi. Oksana, another spirit user who Rose had met in Russia, could brush minds—read and enter them. What could the users of the other elements do? "Wow."

"I know. It makes you wonder." Christian's excitement and smile faded. "Watching Sydney create the mixture for the Strigoi vaccine made me think of it actually. I thought of how the needed materials, separately, didn't seem so significant—except Olive's spirit-infused blood, of course. But they were. All those ingredients mattered in that small vial. Together, they held something so great, so important. Like all five elements in a stake held by a spirit user against Strigoi."

"He's been trying to break down everything since," Lissa said, smiling at him. She looked at me. "Now, how long—"

I raised a hand. "Wait. What's wrong with Jailbait?" Lissa and Rose grimaced.

"She experienced whatever you did," Rose answered. "And to help you get out of it, she took some of your darkness."

"What?" I shot up and swayed, but hands steadied me and urged me to sit back down. I craned my neck to look around Christian to Jill. She was breathing slower. Her eyes and jaw were no longer clenched shut, but her expression was hollow, haunted. It gave me the chills until she focused on me.

_I'm okay_, she mouthed.

"She's going to be fine," assured Rose. "She just needs a moment. Dimitri's helped me come back from it before, and as you can see, Eddie's with her."

"But you got ragey when you took Lissa's darkness," I pointed out. "Jill doesn't look it. Or did she, and I not see it?"

"That's just it," Lissa started. "We don't know what happened to you. You and I react differently to spirit's effects. It's why we took different medications, right? I was depressed. You're moody. Usually the darkness makes me wrathful, so when Rose took it, it did the same to her. This—you … you weren't … _here, _like you were lost inside your own head."

"That's … that's the first time it's happened," I said lamely. Or was it? Would I be even aware if it wasn't? I wasn't earlier. Rose's, Lissa's, and Christian's expressions reflected they wondered the same thing.

"Well, we have to figured out what the trigger is," said Lissa. "And how to avoid that."

I couldn't really pinpoint the exact cause or anything different. There was the usual depression, that sinking despair and hopelessness, mixed with desperation and a crushing realization that I was so … _small_. I'd had a similar feeling before, but I couldn't very well admit it to them and how I was going so crazy that I heard Aunt Tatiana's voice in my darkest hours—and have gone from _that_ to being completely oblivious of what was happening around me. It was too close to being mindless, unhinged. I didn't want to discuss it with anyone and definitely not with so many people around, all their eyes watching me.

"_Adrian_ and_ I_ will figure it out," Jill whispered, voice raspy, but the message was clear. I wanted to hug her at that moment. She gave me a small smile, letting me know she got it.

Lissa looked ready to disagree but eventually nodded. "If it happens again, though, you have to tell me or Rose. No more secrets if we can help it."

"Okay," I agreed but was conscious of the secrets I would be keeping. I pushed that niggling feeling aside quickly before I gave it away. "So, what's your idea, cousin?"

"The formula for the tattoo to stop Strigoi conversion," Lissa said archly, as if the answer were obvious. "Sydney made it. We need it. We need _her_, and the Alchemists support the cause. They wouldn't deny us anything to insure a stop to Strigoi conversion."

It was a great idea, one I had thought of it before, but … "It won't be that easy."

"Maybe not, but I want to see what they say. My mind's already swirling with replies and how to cut them down." She stood and smoothed the skirt of her dress. As she walked around the room, that fierce determination overtook her face again. "Besides the few family members it affects, we haven't told anyone else outside of our inner circle about the tattoo's success. Sure, our people will celebrate. Some will question. Others will come forward to help. It's a great way to unite and invigorate the Moroi and dhampirs."

She stopped and turned to everyone. "But the news will certainly bring the Strigoi upon us, and we aren't ready for it. We need more of the vaccine—a more effective way to make it without having to restore a Strigoi every time. There aren't enough known spirit users, and I won't ask those we know to do it. Restoring one is hard enough on us." She continued pacing. "So, we need the Alchemists' help. We need Sydney. _I_ need her. I trust her. And I won't bend on this."

This was a side of Lissa I had never seen before today, reminding me that she too had changed. I always knew she would be a great queen, and I'd seen her slip into that skin before, but _being_ queen suited her. I had been worried that the throne and all the stress it brought would crush her gentle nature in some way over time, straining her mind or shadowing her spirit.

It hadn't. It drove her, gave her purpose, fueled her like nothing else could.

She spun toward us. "Well, what do you think?"

"I think," I said, "that we have the most beautiful and inspiring queen ever."

Christian rapped his knuckles against the table. "Hear, hear."

Lissa colored and then in all seriousness asked, "I mean they wouldn't refuse, so that would get Sydney out, right?"

"It wouldn't hurt to ask." I was more hopeful than before but wouldn't let my expectations get too high. "It's the only thing that makes sense without looking suspicious, and it can get Sydney away from of there faster than us searching for her."

"Do you really think the Alchemists won't let her come?" Rose asked, frowning. "I get they want to 're-educate' her, but they want to stop the turning to Strigoi as much as we do."

I shrugged. "I don't know what to expect of the Alchemists anymore. I'm sure you didn't think the pure holier-than-thou were capable of torturing their people."

Neil, who had been sitting on the side, eating with Angeline, shifted in his seat. Dimitri's eyes flicked to the movement, and his brows furrowed. I bit back a curse.

Inner cogs spinning, Dimitri scanned my friends, flitting past me before darting back again and meeting my gaze, which was my mistake. He saw that as another anomaly. I should have pretended I didn't notice Neil or him anxious, but I was exhausted and tired of acting nonchalant. I needed something real, something of substance since I couldn't have it in a glass or in the form of Sydney. I also was ready to be taken seriously.

Still, I couldn't help but taunt. "You all right, comrade? Looks like you're missing something."

Instead of narrowed eyes, I got a glimmer of … approval. Dimitri turned away and honed in on the one person guaranteed to bend to him, to report efficiently without blubbering or glib remarks—Eddie, his mini-me.

"It's time you tell us what happened in Palm Springs," he said to the younger guardian. "And why you're all so doubtful of the Alchemists' cooperation on this."

Unlike Neil would have, Eddie smartly started from the beginning and kept a few details vague. He recounted the night of Sydney's capture, brushing over how he and she were supposed to be meeting one of her contacts without mentioning Marcus, focusing instead on Sydney's father and sister's words and how determined the Alchemists were to capture her. At the mention of guns, everyone tensed.

"What?" Rose exclaimed. "The Alchemists actually carry them?"

Eddie nodded. "We were surprised, too." He hesitated for a second, and with his next words, I understood why. "They had no issues of shooting, either." As expected, expressions darkened, and he was quick to assure. "Neither Sydney or I were shot."

Like her scowl, Lissa's tone was low, dangerous. "But they wouldn't have had problem if you were?"

"I can't speak for them," Eddie answered diplomatically.

"Your reply tells me enough." Lissa took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Christian stood up to stand by her side, laying a hand on the small of her back. "Now I understand. Go on, Eddie."

Well, now it got tricky. How much to say and give away? Although Wolfe and Jackie gave us their blessing to inform only our most trusted friends of their involvement, we still felt we were exposing the two humans to scrutiny and more danger.

But the four of us at Wolfe's wanted to tell as much necessary truth as possible. We wouldn't take any chances. The info we had and were presenting was contingent on too many events that occurred dependently upon each other. Also, there were so many nuances that we were worried we wouldn't be able to keep the lies straight while keeping everything believable—like why we had called from the airport before nightfall when Strigoi could only venture outside after dark. We weren't willing to endanger Jill to wait a few hours so we could lie, and Eddie would never claim a kill that wasn't his either.

And not only did we not want to lie to our friends and queen, but we recognized this as an opportunity to accomplish many things at once, too. We could track, expand, and protect.

So, seeming relieved, Eddie didn't finish the story of the night Sydney was captured. Her using human magic wasn't our secret to tell. Eddie felt guilty and ashamed enough for being tricked; he didn't need to relive it again. Instead, he launched into brief and again vague explanations of what had happened the following weeks, and no one seemed to notice the topic leap.

He skipped over my weeks of deep self-medicating, for which I was thankful. My mood dipped, though, as he revealed our efforts to stay under the Alchemist's radar. My bad boy gimmick, the training sessions, Jill (with Eddie) accompanying me as a buffer to see Sydney's connections but also learning self-defense—hearing it all said aloud made me realize how foolish the plans were.

And as I relayed our attempts to find Sydney, the tension and worry only grew in the room and myself. I had to admit that meeting at Wolfe's, Jackie's scrying, and then returning to his place even after learning he knew about our kind—essentially, us trusting them—sounded reckless. Everyone was brimming with questions and, I was sure, vicious reprimands, but they let Eddie and I continue without interrupting.

I hadn't given my duffel bag to be taken to my room, so I reached over and pulled out what I needed.

"These are just still shots," I said, handing the two sets of photos to Lissa and Dimitri. Christian and Rose moved to look over their shoulders. "But Wolfe gave me a copy of videos if you need them."

"These were taken from his 'compound,' you say?" asked Dimitri, not looking away from the prints in his hands. "How big and secluded is this place?"

"It's on the outskirts of town," I replied without really answering. "And 'compound' … is the only way to describe the property and its size."

"It's about half an urban block," clarified Eddie. Of course he would know and make note. "Three buildings—a small house with no windows, a standard indoor gun range, and a warehouse less than four thousand square feet. Closest substantial structure is two miles away, with the highway about a mile. The surrounding land's pretty barren."

Dimitri hummed. Although the tone didn't give anything away but that he was deep in thought, it sounded damning. The four of them continued studying the photos of the Strigoi, Alchemist, and Wolfe decapitating the first.

Eddie, Jill, Neil, and I shared nervous glances as we gave our friends time to collect their thoughts. Had we made the right choice in telling them so much? I had been sure we were before. Now, I wasn't.

I sipped on orange juice, wishing it were spiked, but I had multiple dates with spirit dreams tonight. Jill chewed on her lip. Eddie looked resigned and ready to be punished. Neil seemed resolved as well, which was a surprise since he knew and had little do with what happened until the last moment. He was sticking with us regardless, and I almost smiled at that fact.

But then my eyes fell on Angeline. Tears streamed down her cheeks, even as she rushed to wipe them away. My stomach sank, and I moved to talk to her. She raised a hand and shook her head. Along with the crying, her silence was so uncharacteristic of her that it spoke of how hurt and betrayed she felt at being kept out of the loop.

Neil, seeming unsure and uncomfortable with what to do, reached out to her. She yanked her arm away. Okay, so she was angry too.

"Wow," Lissa said, finally breaking the quiet. "You all have been busy."

I was sure we would have chuckled if we weren't so on edge and suddenly feeling guilty.

Seeing that, Lissa smiled sadly. "I'm not going to yell at you guys. I think you realize how irresponsible all this was. But I understand it. We've shared enough situations like these, and I know you were only to protect one another. I can't be mad about that."

We sighed in relief, yet it still seemed hard to breathe.

Dimitri tapped on one of the pictures of Wolfe wielding his cutlass, the blade arced high in the air. I realized then that everyone was waiting for Lissa to speak first, another sign of her sovereignty. "D—"

A knock interrupted him. Lissa checked her watch and sighed. "I have another meeting in ten, and I can't miss it."

We all stood, but she waved her hand. "Oh, stop. You have a lot to discuss, or you can head to bed if you'd like. I know you're on human schedules and must be exhausted. Dimitri will keep me updated, and we'll meet again later." She turned to Jill. "If you're up, maybe we can have dinner? Well, dinner for me and breakfast for you."

Jill nodded, looking just as nervous and, yes, hopeful, as her sister. "Okay."

"Okay," repeated Lissa, her relief visible. She turned to Christian, whom she seemed to know would be staying. When she stepped out of his embrace and walked to the door, she called, "Rose."

"But—"

"No. You're coming with me." Lissa opened the hall door. The guardians on the other side snapped to attention.

Rose grumbled and kissed her brooding Russian. Before joining her queen's side, she pointed at me. "Don't think you're saved. We'll talk later."

"I know, little dhampir." I gave her a grin. "Your foot has an appointment with my ass."

"Damn straight," she muttered and slipped through the door. Lissa winked at me.

"If we weren't obscurely related," I joked because we really weren't‚ "I'd marry you just for that, Your Majesty."

Her smile was huge and bright before it dimmed. "You're taken now anyway."

My smile turned soft, sad. "I am." _Now if only I get her back. _

As if she'd heard me, Lissa hesitated, seeming to struggle with what she wanted to say. But I understood. Even if we got Sydney out of the re-education center, it didn't mean she was free of the Alchemists, and while everyone in the room seemed to accept the idea of us, no one else would. Not the Alchemists. Not our people, Moroi or dhampir.

There was no solution. Sydney and I could run, hide away, but not forever if the Alchemists were determined. And with either race, it would be an ongoing battle. One that Lissa didn't want for another friend. One with which she was powerless to do more. One that she couldn't openly support in her position. Not only because it could anger the Alchemists, but also because she would lose the footing she'd gained with our people; they would question her.

And, as I studied the girl, now young woman and Queen, who I cared for like and used think of as my fraternal twin because she was the first person I encountered who reflected and understood my war with spirit, I began to wonder if she had any faith in her plan or even believed in Sydney and me. Her aura, gold like all spirit users, was cloudy and knobby with doubt. Or maybe it was guilt.

"Go," I told her. "We'll talk later."

Lissa nodded, solemn. When the door closed behind her, Dimitri began his questioning. Eddie answered, as I barely paid attention, trying to calm my emotions and then reach out to Sydney. I ached for her, needed her and that unwavering faith. _Centrum permanebit._ Would the center hold, Sydney? Because I felt empty and off kilter, especially when I found blank blackness on the other side.

The couch cushion shifted beneath me from a new weight. Jill leaned against my side.

_I'm okay,_ I thought to her.

A small smile and a huff of a chuckle touched my arm. I wrapped it around her, knowing how pointless it would be to tell her not to worry. The bond was strengthening. I might have been slipping, but simply being near each other seemed to help reassure us. We were both quiet, lost in thought, until the meeting ended.

"Do you think they'll come?" whispered Eddie. He and I trailed behind the rest of the gang, plus Nina and Olive Sinclair who were leading us to our rooms.

The half-sisters had been waiting outside the media room when we finished making plans with Dimitri and Christian. It wasn't a surprise. Neil and Olive were dating, and despite Nina being a Moroi and Olive a dhampir, the sisters were close. They grew up together—something else that, while not quite taboo, was uncommon nonetheless—and Nina had risked her life and sanity to restore her dhampir sister from the Strigoi state.

I just wanted to avoid the spirit user as long as possible. Even now, as Jill chatted with her, Nina kept stealing glances back at me. It hadn't escaped Jill's notice. She surreptitiously tried to keep Nina's attention and gave me droll look as Nina yet again glanced in my direction. I winked at Jill for her efforts, receiving a rueful smile and shake of the head in return.

Answering Eddie, I shrugged and kept my voice low. "I'm not sure, but I don't see why they wouldn't come. With all his stories, Wolfe seems well traveled and always up for adventure. Like you guys are—were—Jackie's on break, too."

I kept forgetting no one would be returning to Amberwood now that the family quorum was null and void. It was weird to think about. Like a phantom limb, an extension of us had been abruptly cut off but was still present in our minds; the sudden vacancy was unbelievable and a little painful.

I shook my head and the morbid thought away. "We can keep an eye on them," I continued. It was one worry crossed off the list. "Make sure they're safe for a week. And since they'll be staying close by, not here at Court, they won't be subjected to our people's prying eyes, wagging tongues, and vicious teeth."

I wasn't sure how the two humans would feel about us digging into their past, though. Background checks were smart on our part and exactly what we wanted. It would reassure a few us, especially Eddie, Dimitri, and me. But I still felt guilty. The couple trusted our group, hardly asking questions or pushing for anything, and willingly put their lives at risk to help us.

Speaking of guilt, trust, and risk, we came upon Angeline's room first. She entered and left the door open. Jill and Eddie followed. Neil and I hung back with the Sinclair sisters. I didn't want to linger, but Neil was preoccupied with Olive.

"We're going to have a little powwow," I told Nina. "Can you just point out where our rooms are?" I didn't want them sticking around. I had a feeling the next few minutes would be loud.

Nina indicated everyone's rooms. I thanked her and looked at Neil. He and Olive were in their own world. They weren't touching, but the vibes exuding from them suggested they were one step away from finding their own room.

I cleared my throat. "Neil."

He stiffened. A red flush crept up the back of his neck to his ears. I felt sorry for the guy. For all his support, the least I could do was buy him time. "When y—"

He shook his head. "No, I'm coming."

I wanted to remark on his choice of words but kept my mouth shut. A strangled noise came from my side. I glanced at the source. Nina was shaking, lips smashed together. Her eyes gleamed with amusement as they met mine. I almost lost it then and had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

Neil said a quiet, promise-filled goodbye to Olive before, looking as if he were going into battle, he stepped into Angeline's room.

As I turned to follow, Nina reached out to me. "Is everything all right, Adrian? Are … are _you_ all right?"

I mustered a smile. "Of course. Just tired from the trip. We were on human schedules."

She searched my face and then around me—my aura. "Okay, but … let me know if you need anything. I was thinking, maybe we can go out for a drink. Catch up?"

Nina was a nice girl. Brave to save her sister. Pretty with all that dark curly hair and unusual gray eyes. She had confidence and fire, and as spirit users, we had a lot in common. A year ago, I gladly would have taken up everything she clearly wanted to offer. But now, she didn't stand a chance. No one did.

I patted her hand before gently removing it from my arm. Nina looked down and then through the doorway at Jill, brows furrowing.

"Oh." She pulled away. "I-I didn't realize. I didn't think the rumors were true."

My brows shot up. I glanced at my hand—at the ring—and shared a horrified expression with Jill. "Oh! No. _No_ … This is a healing ring Lissa gave me."

Nina relaxed and chuckled. "Sorry. I didn't believe what people were saying, but for a second, I thought there might have been some truth to it."

"Look, Nina." I had to nip this in the bud but didn't want to hurt her feelings.

She raised her hands. "You don't have to—"

"How about we meet for coffee tomorrow?" I asked at the same time.

She started. "Really?"

"Yeah." I didn't have time at the moment, but I figured it would be best to be honest and give her an explanation since we would be working on the Strigoi vaccine together. I wouldn't tell her everything, of course. I simply didn't want things awkward between us.

"All right," she said, beaming.

I hid a grimace and moved toward Angeline's room. "I'll send you a message on when and where."

"Okay."

I wondered if my smile looked as painful as it felt. It was another first for me, not being able to don a charming grin that used to come as second nature, and I sighed in relief after closing the door. I made it five steps in to the room before I was shoved by a girl for the second time in forty-eight hours, and Angeline exploded.


	10. Chapter 10 — Sydney

_* Reviewers, you are the highlight to every writer's day. Thank you so much for taking the time to leave a comment.  
__I'm going on vacation soon. Mexico, for one week! Eee, I'm so excited! I'll try to update once more before I leave. For now, I hope you enjoy the last Sydney chapter in Part I. [breathes into paper bag] I was so darn nervous writing it, let alone posting it._

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

**Sydney**

I awoke with a groan and, with my panic gone, was little surprised to be alive, though I almost wished I wasn't. My head pounded with a savage ache. My body felt as if it had been trampled, and I was still clothed. None were good signs. The last one meant the worst. A visitor.

"Hello, Sydney," said a voice. If only it were female and synthesized.

I lifted my head and squinted at the man to confirm. Jameson sat on the other side of the window, an old leather book in his hand and glasses perched on his nose. _So, I hadn't been imagining things._ I struggled to sit up and then rubbed my temples.

"I would apologize for the drug," Jameson said before he shrugged. "But we had to ensure you wouldn't try to escape during the alarm. You also needed sleep, and we couldn't have you dreaming now, could we?"

A tendril of hate seared from deep in my belly at the oblique mention of Adrian. I bit back my threats and, instead, asked, "What happened?"

"A breach. A long-range, very atypical, elemental one." When I opened my mouth to question what he meant, his hand sliced through the air. "Don't ask. I won't tell you anything else."

I glowered and grounded my teeth to keep silent.

Snapping shut his book, Jameson set it aside and studied me like I was a specimen he had never encountered, not one that needed to be squashed as I had expected, but one that fascinated him for the mystery it held. His gaze wasn't admiring or appreciative either, but calculating, dissecting. It made my skin crawl and muscles tighten, bracing for some sort of strike and to strike back.

"Your vampire friends have returned to the Royal Moroi Court," he stated after a few moments.

I breathed in and exhaled slowly, trying to calm down and appear relieved, as if I didn't already know. Now that Jameson was in the picture, I was even more grateful that my friends left Palm Springs. He couldn't harm them.

"Also, their monarch hasn't made the announcement to anyone yet, but I have it on good authority that they voted on the two-person family rule, and it passed."

Now _that _was surprise. I couldn't hide my smile. Joy filled me, and all the tension that had built up since I had been on the assignment to keep Jill hidden eased. I covered my face as tears sprung, and I laughed. Jill was finally safe! It had been my mission, but more than anything, I had come to care for her.

Marcus had mentioned that Jameson had been looking for a missing girl. A name had never been said, but I knew it was Jill. Who else could it be? Marcus didn't know my connection to her, and I didn't show my interest in the matter or try to get more information. Eddie and I had suspected, however, that Jameson wanted to kill her to incite a civil war, something the Alchemists worked hard to prevent so humans didn't learn of the vampires' existence. With the family quorum pulled, that possibility was no longer viable. No one could use Jill as a means to end Vasilia's rule.

Lissa … she actually changed their law, one we all thought had been set in stone. Yet, I realized, the ruling put her in more danger. She must have known and proceeded anyway because it was the right thing to do. A stitch of anxiety for the young queen hit me, but I knew Rose Hathaway and Dimitri Belikov, the best guardians ever and part of Lissa's personal guard, would never let anything happen to her.

The news was momentous—for everyone.

I was glad my face was covered. My happiness was suddenly seized by dread. While the news was monumental, not everyone knew. Jameson said the Moroi queen hadn't made the announcement to _anyone_ yet. Did that include the Alchemists? If so, then how did he know? And why would he tell me this _and_ that my friends were safe?

Wait. The cameras were on. There was one on his side too, so the Alchemists must be aware. But why would they let him tell me when my friends' safety took away their leverage? Unless … the cameras were off.

No. It didn't matter what position he held in the organization. The Alchemists recorded everything, prided themselves in being efficient, thorough. Jameson could be lying about being my superior, too. I wouldn't know the truth. Dale could be indulging him, though that didn't make sense either.

My mind raced, and for once, I couldn't come up with answers. I dropped my hands and scrutinized the head of the Warriors of Light. His eyes held knowledge and smug satisfaction. He knew questions churned inside me—as well as the doubt I was beginning to have.

"I always knew how sympathetic you were to those vile creatures." He stood and grabbed his book, holding it to his chest. "Since that impassioned speech you gave in my arena. It's a wonder the Alchemists didn't catch your treachery sooner. With your reaction from my news, they now know you don't only love your spirit wielder but the rest of them as well. And once the ruling is confirmed, the Alchemists and you will realize how much I know and can offer."

His fingers drummed on the book cover. Naturally, my gaze flicked to the movement for a moment. I did a double take when I read the Latin title.

_Intrinsic Physiographic Designs_

One of the books Inez, a formidable witch, let me borrow was titled the same. It focused on earth science and the power of geology and blood for magical charms. When I met Jameson's gaze again, his intimidatingly calm demeanor hadn't changed.

"I do hope to see you again, Miss Sage. Such natural talent would be wasted if you do not make it out of here." He pointed at me and barely tapped on the book again with his other hand, saying, "Let's hope you get back your cross. People underestimate the power of such a symbol, and it could help center you to earth and divinity."

With that, he strolled to the door as though he didn't have a care in the world and hadn't thrown mine upside down. Because if I was reading his cues and words correctly, along with the title of that book, he knew about human magic and was telling me to use it. That he knew I could and should.

What. The heck?

Unable to keep still, I stood up and paced. My thoughts bounced from the news and implications to all the possibilities. I hardly knew where to start. I had no way to verify what Jameson said. I didn't trust him. I didn't know his history or his motives besides the Warriors of Light, wanting to team with the Alchemists for their resources, and taking down the vampire community.

In the grand scheme, I hardly knew anything. I only had endless speculations that seemed to grow more farfetched than the last, and when the inferences were highly unexpected and confusing to begin with, that was saying a lot.

I could never resist a puzzle, but this was like a Gordian knot. Disentangling it was impossible, and cutting through it or even thinking outside the box was unmanageable when I was stuck in a cage.

I wasn't sure how much time passed until I wore myself out and had to sit down. Too frustrated, I couldn't fall asleep. I was surprised that the synthesized voice hadn't returned, too. Jameson must have really stirred the pot.

I wiped my runny nose with my sleeve and grew hotter. I guessed the Alchemists didn't include cold medicine with any of the drugs they'd given me, but at least I had clothes. My mouth was also dry. I wasn't willing to chance drinking from the faucet yet, though. I needed to spirit dream with Adrian, exchange information, and I couldn't do that if I was drugged.

Adrian … I longed for him more than ever. He was the one person I could turn to with all my thoughts. Simply talking to him eased my nerves. He would listen intently, never once telling me what to do, only pointing things out and letting me work through each problem. Even if I couldn't solve the issue, he was the balm to my jumbling mind and anxious soul. I wished I had told him that and promised myself I would the next time I saw him.

Thinking of him, I finally fell asleep.

When I woke up again, I realized I hadn't dreamed. I hated to admit how much that stung, but I was more worried than wounded. Did something happen at Court? Was Adrian okay? Had spirit's darkness gripped him and led him to drink? I didn't care if he fell off the wagon—well, not too much. I was more worried about him not taking his medication. I had complete faith that he could take care of himself, but with everything that had happened and the unknowns of spirit, I couldn't help but be concerned.

I stood and walked to the sink, figuring I could take a drink. The water wasn't always drugged, and I was so thirsty—and burning up. I couldn't recall the feeling since it had been so long I had one, but I was pretty sure I had a fever. I swiped my hand under the automated faucet. The sensor caught the motion, prompting water. I cupped my hands together and raised the pooled liquid.

At the last second, though, I pulled back without a sip. I needed to connect with Adrian. The information was too important.

Unaware that I had fallen back asleep, I was jolted awake when I felt a prick in my arm. I moaned and tried to move but couldn't. My body was too heavy, too hot, and something held me down.

"Shh," a voice soothed. "You're sick."

_I know_, I thought. _Not sick in the way you mean, though._

"We're going to help you get better."

_I'd heard that before, too. _

My protests were feeble. Voices rose around me as I dipped in and out of consciousness. One moment, I was sweating and then shivering. The sound of propellers—a helicopter?—thundered in my ears. The next, I was surround by water. After that, I felt nothing. I could only hear buzzing and see what I thought was a pair of sad, violet eyes. Then at last, I gave in to the black and didn't resurface.

**_._**

The world was warm. Soft sheets were inviting, the clean scent soothing. Languid, I stretched before I snuggled in deeper. My cheek scraped against something coarse. I winced and sat up.

"Hello, Sydney," greeted a female voice.

I looked toward the source. On the other side of the window were two men and a woman. They each had clipboards and white doctor coats, scribbling pens in hand and no nametags. A camera was propped on a pod next to the woman, pointed at me but not filming or recording. A television was set next to it on a table.

"Hello," I said. My brows furrowed. I hadn't meant to say anything, though I felt that I should. Habit, I supposed.

Shaking off my bemusement, I focused on the woman with her dark hair in a bun. Her thick-rimmed glasses gave her a more studious air. "How do you feel, Sydney?" she asked.

"I … I feel fine." No, that wasn't precisely right. I opened my mouth to say so but quickly shut it. Blinking, I glanced around the room. There was … something … off. I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

"That's good," the woman said, "because we're here to talk about your parents. A judge would like to ask you some questions."

A light in my head flicked on. Pieces clicked. "Oh, the custody hearing." I frowned. "That's today?" _Wasn't it supposed to be somewhere else?_ I clenched my eyes shut and shook my head, not sure what I was thinking and wanting to avoid it.

"Miss Sage," said a man. It came from the TV. The man who sat there looked like a judge, clean cut in his black robe, hands folded together in front of him. His face was serious and neutral, but he had kind eyes. "I'm Jonas Addens."

I smiled a little. "Isn't that supposed to be preceded by 'Judge' or 'the Honorable'?"

"It's not necessary," he replied carefully. If I didn't know better, I would say he seemed … placating, indulgent, like he would with a child. "I have a few questions for you about your parents and upbringing."

"Yes," I said with a slow nod. "I've been told that already."

"Tell me about it—your childhood."

"Well, I imagine it wasn't all that different from others'." I scrunched my face because that wasn't right either. My childhood consisted of memorizing scientific algorithms and mathematical equations, along with geographical and societal structures, paradigms, statistics, analytics, and linguistics. Instead of dolls, I had played with chemicals and learned how to dress multiple wounds, not match different outfits. My favorite toys weren't toys at all—engines and a gas chromatograph to separate and analyze compounds. Best friend? I didn't have one. I had sisters, but my peers were adults.

I couldn't very well say this. I knew that. And what was on the tip of my tongue, what I felt I was supposed to say, wouldn't come out. Literally. As I was on the cusp of opening my mouth, I hesitated every time and rubbed the side of my face.

"Please elaborate, Miss Sage," said the judge.

"I—" _I can't_, I wanted to snap but couldn't.

He nodded. "All right." Again, careful, measured, deliberately so. As if he was afraid to spook me.

I eyed the three on the other side of the window and studied the room, barely paying attention to next question. Then I stilled completely. I didn't move a muscle as I noted how I was sitting. Prim and proper. Back straight, ankles crossed, with a hand in my lap. My other hand … on my left cheek, which was sore and tingled.

Understanding dawned. Hatred bloomed and burned but sputtered out quickly. My anger, however, didn't.

I flew across the room and threw all my weight against the window. The judge and white-coats flinched. I saw the woman jump out of her chair while the men stayed seated and _studied_ me before the window frosted over.

I continued to bash on the thick pane with all the strength I had, and since I couldn't say all the vicious things that roared in my head, I screamed. I snarled and bellowed. I spit, swore, and clawed. I tore apart my cell as much as I could, like a part of my free will had been ripped from me.

The buzzing … The Alchemists had tattooed me with stronger compulsion and group loyalty. The sad, violet eyes … They'd had a Moroi compel me. As I raged around my cement cell, I wondered why they had even bothered to have me memorize the materials that Jared had sent over if they would force me to say _nothing_.

_To make me say their words_, I realized. It was an exercise, a way to desensitize.

But the bath and medicine … Why had they bothered to clean and heal me? If they hadn't, I would have looked—

I froze, my head and heart pounding.

_You're sick,_ they'd said.

I'd known, but I wasn't sick in the way they meant.

I focused on the window, where a girl with my features but a skinny, hollowed-out shadow of whom she used to be now reflected and stared back at me. Where the camera had been and might still be, filming a girl with knots in her hair, tears in her eyes and down her cheeks, blood on her hands, lips, and face, shaking and looking sick. Crazed. Crazy.

The next sound that came from me wasn't a scream or growl or even some semblance of a word—but a sob. It rent through the air from the depths of my soul that I could feel breaking, and I crumpled beneath its never-ending weight.

I covered my ears at the broken cries that wouldn't cease no matter how much I tried to stop them. The noise undistinguishable from howls of anguish, moans of despair, and pleas for release. I didn't recognize this girl. I didn't recognize _me_.

Because for someone who knew so much, overanalyzed everything, anticipated all scenarios, and planned for each possibility … how had I not seen this, my own self-destruction? In the end, I didn't delude the Alchemists. I deluded myself.

I was treated, told, drove, and appeared crazy, but it was _I_ who went berserk. And along with others, I witnessed the insanity. I met it in the eye and saw it. Felt it. Could hear it. Could practically taste it.

I was it. I was _her_. That broken-looking girl in the window.

I couldn't beat the Alchemists. They were one step—_multiple_ steps ahead. They knew my testimony would be better served if given within a supposed mental institution, for it would be disregarded or maybe used against my mom. It was easier to discredit and instill doubt than to induce faith, was it not? At the same time, they efficiently utilized my effort to their advantage—to say their words.

And Jamie's words, his message … who knew if help was really coming. The Alchemists knew the Robin Hood pseudonym; the director had referred to it. Jamie could have been caught beforehand and then re-tattooed. He had been very good at being blank and stoic—too good. Which meant that not only did the Alchemists know of my involvement and would never let me leave for the treason, but more importantly, it could mean the salt ink didn't work against greater compulsion.

The realizations were stunning, overwhelming. They were deathblows to hope and months of work, and when delivered all at once in one fell swoop, the Alchemists hit my greatest strength and weakness.

For someone who prided herself on knowledge and accomplishing, I knew _nothing_. Could neither be sure of nor _do_ anything. And like a vicious vortex, acknowledging the fact sucked me down.

I couldn't escape it and had no voice or true will of my own. I was drowning, lost, weak. With one last mental touch to the dark compartment that held Adrian's cross, I sank in to the sensation and succumbed to the abyss.

* * *

_**[peeks through fingers] Thoughts? **_


	11. Chapter 11 — Adrian

_* Whew! I almost thought I wouldn't get to post this before I leave for Mexico in a few hours. I probably won't be able to update for at least a week, but the next chapter will be posted as soon as possible when I get back. __An Adrian hug to all you reviewers for your kind words._ As always, I love hearing from you and appreciate your thoughts. Please don't hate me for this chapter, okay? :{ *hides*

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

**Adrian**

Angeline's southern accent rang in my ears. "Why didn't you guys tell me? Me! Of all people you tell Neil—Mr. British Uptight and Proper!"

Neil straightened. "Hey."

Angeline ignored him and repeatedly jabbed a finger in to my chest."_I _never would've judged or condemned you and Sydney. I could've helped and would've been happy for you guys. You know my people don't care. Heck, we encourage it!" Angeline had grown up with the Keepers, a rare rural mountain community of Moroi, dhampirs, and humans who intermarried, so I didn't doubt her for a second.

Grasping her shoulders, I leaned down to look her in the eye. "I'm sorry. I know if there's anyone who would support us, it's you. And I appreciate that more than you can ever know. But Syndey and I couldn't—can't live as openly as your people. We didn't, and we don't. Jill knew because of the bond. Eddie found out by chance when Sydney was taken, and Neil learned of it _yesterday_. Sydney and I didn't _tell anyone_. We weren't only worried about the scrutiny but mostly of her getting caught by the Alchemists."

Angeline opened her mouth then quickly shut it. I knew what she was thinking—we could have gone to the Keepers to hide, but who knew for how long. The Alchemists stopped by the communities every so often with food and medicine and would have found Sydney.

Angeline's shoulders slumped. I rubbed them.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Whoa!" I laughed. "I think that's a first." Angeline had the tendency to get into all sorts of trouble. She never apologized, only always saying, _"It wasn't my fault."_

"And did you hear what she said?" asked Jill. "She said 'heck' instead of 'hell.'"

We all chuckled.

Angeline pulled away and roughly rubbed at her eyes, trying to hide angry tears. "That's because of Sydney. Everyone respects her. All the teachers and other students. I thought …" She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. All that matters is we get her back, and we will."

And just like that, we had good old Angeline back. She paced the room, hands flying everywhere as she spewed disdain for the Alchemists and close-minded people. In true Angeline fashion, the topic veered to an obscure tangent, from the Keepers to the Aztecs and Trey Juarez, her boyfriend. I slipped out and headed to my room a few doors down.

Instead of guest housing, we were staying in the palace, close to Jill. I was silently thanking Lissa for remembering my preference to stay away from my parents' townhouse when I opened the door and saw my reason for avoiding the place. Someone as immovable and unrelenting as the Alchemists.

Nathan Ivashkov, my dad, stood in the middle of my room with his signature dour glower and haughty nose in the air.

I sighed and shut the door. _Would this day never end?_

"Welcome, Dad. Please, make yourself at home." I placed my duffle next to the nightstand. "How's Mom?"

I usually waited a few minutes before bringing up my incarcerated mother who disgraced the family by stealing evidence of Jill's legitimacy and bribing a witness in my aunt's murder case, but I was in no mood to be even slightly accommodating when my dad wouldn't tell me where she was.

As expected, he sneered. I spoke before he could cut me down with how much better she was without me. "What do you want?"

He drew back, startled or disgusted, whether from the question, from my directness or that I had bothered to ask, I wasn't sure.

I crossed my arms and braced myself. "Come on, Dad. You never come to me. When I want to see you, I have to make an appointment through your secretary. Terribly cliché, by the way. You were in California twelve times in the past six months, and I only saw you once—because I scheduled it. You didn't bother to try to see me the last time I came to Court, and we both know you haven't come to check on my well-being. Your assumptions are already conclusions in your mind. So, what are you doing here? What do you want?"

He appraised me, his expression giving nothing away to his thoughts. I scratched my jaw, noting I should have shaved, but I refused to fidget any more under his gaze. For a moment, I thought I saw his eyes glint with a bit of approval.

"You wore that when you saw the queen?" he asked. Okay, so that crumb of approval was wishful thinking.

"Yes," I replied, walking to the mini-fridge for a drink. "I've been awake for nearly forty-eight hours. Her Majesty summoned me. I wasn't going to make her wait so I can power nap and take a shower."

My dad nodded absently. I took a swig of water and studied him. He didn't answer my question. Then again, he kind of did.

"That's what you wanted to know—if I saw the queen." I snorted. "What happened? Did she cancel a meeting with you?" The return of the Palm Springs group had been last minute, and we had talked for hours. Not that Jill wasn't a priority, but I was surprised Lissa had stayed with us as long as she had.

My dad tsked. "She canceled with Reece Tarus. Your mother's uncle was complaining."

"Typical. Royal Council members think they should have top priority. You'll fit right in when you take the Ivashkov chair after Uncle Rufus dies." I widened my eyes dramatically. "Oh, wait. You already stand in for the twelfth chair—the Dragomir chair—since the Princess can't."

For voting purposes, the Council seats along with the queen's had to equal an odd number. It was no coincidence there were twelve Royal families. With Jill both too young and in hiding, the Ivashkovs held the proxy position, as we were the largest Royal family.

"Well …" I smirked wryly at my dad, continuing. "You hold the chair until Princess Jillian graduates. As you well know since you're currently on the Council, the vote passed to discontinue the family quorum. The Princess will no longer be harmed in that respect, right?" I tilted my head to the side. "I do wonder about other reasons, though."

I didn't think my dad was behind the initial assassination attempts, but I did want to make it clear that other possible motives to harm Jill and ultimately Lissa hadn't gone unnoticed. Because if I had list of people capable of conspiracy and who would see the inside of a jail cell, my mother wouldn't have made the list. My dad, on the other hand, would be in the top ten.

His eyes narrowed. He caught what I was implying, all right. Then, surprisingly, he smiled—just a tiny twitch of his bushy, silver mustache—and said, "I'll be damned."

"You already are," I muttered and resisted sitting down. _I'd_ be damned to have to look up at my dad.

But exhaustion was settling in. My second and third wind had longed passed, and the night was still young. I had a lot to do without a drop of liquor, maybe not even a nightcap later. I was determined to hold off on smoking, too. I was worried that stopping both medication and substances altogether wouldn't be the smartest move, but I had to try. Sydney needed me, and my head needed to be clear.

"Queen Vasilia praised your work to me," my dad started. Yes, I knew as much. He had given me money for a car and upped my allowance because of it, all due to Sydney asking Sonya and Dimitri to talk to the queen to speak on my behalf. "Granted, she wouldn't clarify what that work entailed besides that 'it was for the greater good and could make Moroi and dhampir history.' I'll admit a part of me was skeptical."

"You still sound skeptical."

"Well, look at you." He gestured at me with disdain. "You've never appeared as such a mess, not even when you were inebriated beyond belief. Yet there's not one whiff of clove or alcohol on you. You're standing instead of insolently laying down and glaring. You didn't glance once at the decanter on the sideboard. You're drinking water. You still have a smart mouth, impertinent and utterly disrespectful to your betters, but at least the words aren't insipid. They're … noteworthy."

"Oh, God. I think I need a drink."

"Don't," he snapped. "Keep this up—and clean your appearance up—and I'll consider telling you where your mother is."

I straightened and considered _him_.

He nodded. "I will. But first, about you and the Dragomir Princess."

I groaned.

"Oh, please. I know you like _women_, not girls."

"That's a relief."

"Continue to watch out for her," he said, ignoring me. "Stay close, but don't appear too close."

My eyes narrowed. "Why? What do you know?"

"Nothing. That's just it. Usually there's talk, speculations and discontent, but hardly for the past few weeks. Strigoi attacks have dropped, as well." His scowl deepened. "It's _too_ quiet. The bastard Princess's reappearance at Court stirs things up again, and you arriving by her side didn't go unnoticed."

I flicked a hand. "She was on the plane when I was picked up. They were saving gas mileage, I guess." Very few people knew about my connection to Jill and her hiding. My dad was not one of them. I wanted to keep it that way in case we had to run again.

"I don't know your exact ties to the Princess and what you're doing for the Queen. All I know is that I'm not the only one curious as to both." At his expectant look, I merely hummed.

To throw him off, I smiled and patted his shoulder. "Who would have guessed? You do care about me."

He shrugged me away and turned toward the door. Though I hated to waste the energy, I took a peek at his aura. There was the usual orange of air users, overwhelmed by bright lemon-yellow as well as brown typical of my dad who stressed in his struggle for control and power, but lower, deeper or maybe from an outside source, there was a dark and muddy gray. He was genuinely worried.

"Dad." I swallowed. "I'm here for the rest of the week, if you want to have lunch." I couldn't see his face, but he stopped. I took that as a good sign.

"I'm open when you are," he said at last.

That was saying a lot.

I couldn't help but say, "I order my own food, though."

He walked out and slammed the door. I shook my head. Maybe some things could change, but not everything.

With a deep, calming breath, I sank into the chair and reached out to Sydney. Nothing but black. I ignored the despair that slid on me and checked in on Wolfe. After distractedly toying with our appearances and the dream environment, he agreed he'd talk to Jackie about coming to Pennsylvania. He didn't think there would be any issues. He also said he should have information on the Sage custody hearing soon.

I tried Sydney again and encountered the same result, darkness and hopelessness, so I barged in on Marcus's sleep. It didn't last a minute since he immediately was being woken up, but he confirmed he got the location details and was waiting to hear back from multiple sources.

I reached for Sydney again and again. Over two hours later with no luck, I was pacing and shaking. My hands itched for a cigarette or a paintbrush. The amber liquor on the side called to me until I had the nerve to flush it down the toilet. Even then, I glared at the door to the hall that would lead me to clubs and bars, to booze and smokes, to blood and distractions.

Tugging on my hair, trying to get a grip, I sat on the bed. I bounced right up and grabbed my bag. I removed Sydney's AYE shirt and buried my face in the fabric. It no longer smelled of her and the jasmine and carnation perfume oil I had once bought her. With sorrow, I carefully set it on the bed and then dug around the books she'd given me or left at my apartment. A few were spell books that Inez had given her. A couple were on abstract art. Some on poetry. I pulled out one of the novels she encouraged me to finish. _Les Misérables_.

After a few encouraging words to Hopper, I placed the frozen dragon on the nightstand before settling into bed. Inserting buds in my ears, I searched music on my phone and hit play. To Neil Young's guitar-seeped soundtrack for _Dead Man _vibrating through my head and with Victor Hugo's translated words making my eyes cross, I finally fell asleep.

_._

I had woken up later than intended, having forgotten to reset my alarm on my phone and compensate for the time difference. Freshly showered, I had gone to the feeders and now wandered around Court. It was past Moroi dinnertime, and most of the gang was nowhere to be found. Neil confirmed he was with Olive. Eddie and Angeline, I figured, were sparing or hanging with guardians. Jill was … somewhere, not with Lissa and Rose since I had spoken with them as I left the palace.

It was just as well. I needed to get through my dreaded meeting with Nina. I sent a text to the number Neil had given me when I had called him earlier. Then I remembered. Jill was probably reuniting with her mother. I sent her some mental happiness and a message to come find me in a couple hours if she could. My phone chimed with a text. Nina.

_Rain check? Around breakfast tomorrow? Well, dinner for you since I'm guessing you just woke up. _

I smiled, amused that she knew and wasn't one to coming running. I was also relieved. I could gather my thoughts beforehand.

_Sounds good_, I texted back. _Coffee shop across St. Fevronia Park. _

I mentally changed my S.O.S. time for Jill. A moment later, my phone chimed again. This time from an unknown number.

_I'll be there. Now stop with the mind-melds. _

I laughed and pocketed my phone. With a free day ahead, I located a store with art supplies and charmed the owner to stay open a few more minutes. She also agreed to have the larger materials delivered to the palace. So, with sketchpad and pencils in hand, I went to a coffee shop on the east side of Court, across the park Sydney and I had exchanged various stories while bracing the cold the last time we had been here together.

Watching the sunrise and the day go by, I lost myself in memories and trying an art technique I never had before, periodically checking in on her without success.

I was staring at the statue of St. Fevronia veiled in waning light and thinking of Sydney—her smile, the snow in her hair, surrounded by gold, while she told me the humans' story behind the saint—when the chair next to me slid out.

"That's an interesting rendition of _Il Decameron_," Nina remarked as she sat down.

My brows rose. I glanced at my sketch where I blended a well-known _Il Decameron_ illustration and the St. Fevronia statue together, _centrum permanebit _etched in one of the arches in the background. "You know Italian literature and art?"

Nina shrugged. "I went to high school in Rome before I moved to Athens, and I am majoring in Art History."

Closing my sketchbook, I covered my twinge over the mention of Sydney's dream cities. My brows furrowed as I comprehended what Nina said. "I thought you were from Texas."

"No, Texas was where I tracked my sister." She wrapped her hands around her mug. "Boccaccio's _Il Decameron_ is actually one of our favorites series of tales."

I frowned and looked away. It was one of Sydney's, too. I remembered exactly where and when she had admitted to favoring Boccaccio's love stories that ranged from the tragic to the erotic. We had been walking away from the St. Fevronia statue. Sydney had said both the story behind the human saint and the collection of Boccaccio's witty novellas shared motifs.

I was aware of Nina staring at me and then following my gaze when I wouldn't look at her.

"Do you think there was a St. Peter?" Nina asked, referring to the other half of the sainted married couple in the human version.

I would have laughed if I weren't disturbed. It was almost the same question Sydney had asked me when I told her the Moroi didn't have a St. Peter. _You don't think there could have been a St. Peter? Maybe he was lost or excluded in your history. _

Uncharacteristically dramatic, Sydney had gone on to weave a complex tale of St. Fevronia overshadowing Peter because he was human. The female saint healed him and the sick—true in the Moroi version if you took out Peter. St. Fevronia also outsmarted his people—found only in the human version—while he tricked her people. And after all, according to the humans, he killed his brother and then married the newly widowed wife: St. Fevronia.

_"We know there's some truth to fiction,"_ Sydney had said with a playfully ominous tone and pointed glance. _"He could have been real. He just wasn't sainted by your people because he was human and a murderer."_

I replied by laughing, pulling her behind a tree, and sneaking in a kiss. Later, when we had returned to her room, I told her our story was better. It was real and much more romantic. We healed each other and, unlike the human version in which the couple died on the same day and were forever buried together, we lived for one another.

I had also added that the humans were wrong, as always. Sydney had poked me. I had laughed and poked her back. We ended up in a tickle war that led to more kissing, whispering, and simply pretending the outside world didn't exist. It was one of the best days of my life.

I didn't tell any of that to Nina, of course. Instead, I swallowed the lump in my throat and murmured, "I'm definitely not a saint, but I am very lucky. I have two halves in my life who make me whole and balance me."

"Oh?" she asked, sounding amused.

"Yeah, there's Jill. I'm sure you noticed our auras." I glanced at Nina, and she nodded. I looked around the coffee shop, glad to see it empty. The owner was bribed easily enough. It helped that the queen had asked him to close, too. And since Lissa gave me the go-ahead earlier because Nina was a spirit user and bound to notice, I continued, "That's because we share a bond. Jill is Shadow-Kissed. I brought her back from the dead."

"Oh." That was not amused. "Wow."

I chuckled a little. "I know."

"That explains it—the auras. I read about the Queen and Guardian Hathway's bond, but I had no idea what it would look like since they don't share one anymore." Nina sipped her coffee before glancing at me. "And I'm guessing, like theirs had been, your bond with Jill is a closely guarded secret."

I nodded. "It is."

Nina placed a hand on my arm. "I _swear_ I won't tell anyone, Adrian."

"That's good to hear, though I wouldn't have told you if any of us believed otherwise."

"I know. I only thought I should reassure you." She moved and squeezed my hand. "Thank you for telling me."

I turned, shifting out of her hold. "Now, the other half, I wouldn't say she's better than Jill or that Jill is better than her, but … she's the best thing that could've happened me." I raised my hand with the ring. "I'm not married, but I might as well be. In my heart, I am."

Understanding lit in those gray eyes. Disappointment flickered across her features before she looked down. "Ah. I see."

"I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not." I grimaced. "That sounded harsher than I intended."

"No. No." She shook her head. "I'm … glad, kind of relieved."

I blinked. "Really?"

"Let's face it. I would've fallen in love with you, and you would've broke my heart."

Our gazes caught. We shared slow grins and a soft laugh. When we turned toward the window, night had fully descended. Moroi and dhampirs passed by. No one looked at the darkened coffee shop, and neither Nina nor I said a word, both lost in thought. The silence was oddly … comfortable.

"I'm guessing hardly anyone knows this, too?" she asked quietly after a while.

"How do you figure?"

"It would be the talk of the town if many did."

I held back a bitter laugh. _She had no idea._

"Your secrets are safe with me, Adrian. To prove it, and as a thank you, I'm going to tell you one of mine."

We weren't looking at each other, so she probably didn't see my bemused smile. "Okay."

"There was a boy. He didn't feel the same, at least I don't think he did, but I was _crazy_ about him." She paused, twisting her mug around and fiddling with the handle. "Because of how I was raised, I didn't care that many people would think it was wrong if they ever found out. He was … he was human."

My gaze snapped to her. "What?" We had been whispering, so that one shocked word echoed in the shop.

Nina smiled sadly, painfully. Before she could continue, a knock resounded. Jill stood at the door. Since I had asked her to save me from an awkward goodbye with Nina, Jill was a bit late. Not that I minded or needed it, remarkably. Glancing between the two of them, I kind of wanted to stay and hear the rest of this story.

Then Jill banged a hand on the window again. I noticed her frantic demeanor and wide eyes. Eddie stood behind her, my duffle over his shoulder.

"Sorry," I told Nina, scurrying to grab my things.

"No, it's all right. This looks urgent." She stood and walked with me to the door.

As I passed her, I asked, "Coffee another time?"

"Sure."

"Because I have to hear the rest of this story of yours." I smiled. "Though I am sincerely interested, it's only fair."

She chuckled softly. "Right. But if you want to talk about fair, I'm telling two people in essence."

"Ha!" I unlocked the door and opened it. "See you later, Nina. And … thanks."

Her eyes were sad but warm, like her smile. "You're welcome."

I took my bag from Eddie, shoving my sketchbook and pencils inside. As he, Jill, and I walked briskly toward the palace, Jill glared at me. "Why isn't your phone on?"

I checked it and cursed. "It's dead. What happened?"

"Wolfe's been trying to call you, and Lissa wants to meet. I think she heard back from the Alchemists."

I sped up and opened my bag again, digging around for the burner phone Wolfe had given me. I dialed him, and he answered during the first ring. "Boy, why aren't you carrying this phone with you?"

"I was expecting you later tonight," I snapped. "Or tomorrow evening—whatever." The time zone and schedule switch seriously messed me up. I nodded to the guardians at the palace entrance. Inside, Jill and Eddie were behind me as I climbed the steps two at a time. When the old man didn't say anything, I sighed. "I'm sorry. Is everything okay?" He didn't reply. I looked at the phone. The call was still connected. "Wolfe?"

We entered the media room, where everyone from two nights before waited, plus a new addition—Sonya Karp. I had asked Lissa to include her—along with the unreachable Abe—the first night. The other spirit user who used to be Strigoi had been in Europe, checking on a lead. I smiled at her and then sat down. "Wolfe," I said.

"Sorry. Yeah, um … the Sage custody hearing was today."

I perked up. "And?"

"I had a couple men at the courthouse in Salt Lake City, but Sydney wasn't at the hearing."

I deflated a little. "Okay. That isn't really a surprise, I guess. The Alchemists probably wouldn't let—wait. You had men there?"

"In case Sydney attended. They would've tried to grab her if possible."

"Wolfe …" I sighed and covered my face. He was going far and beyond what I had asked of him. "Thank you, for trying and everything."

I could feel all eyes in the room on me. Lissa asked Jill what was happening, and Jill filled everyone in.

"Yes, well …" Wolfe cleared his throat. "The men followed the family to separate homes. They're waiting to see if the father will lead us to Sydney."

Going to Sydney's family had been one of my other ideas to finding her, but it had been quickly disregarded. Sure, the entire family weren't Alchemists, but that didn't mean I could trust them or that they would help. Although her parents were getting a divorce, they must have shared some beliefs. I didn't want to put Sydney's mother and older sister in danger, either. I also didn't have the resources to follow her dad or younger sister, and those two would recognize me and the gang on the spot.

Wolfe's people, on the other hand, had a better chance. Still … "I don't want your men to get caught," I told him.

I could practically feel his smile through the phone. "They won't, and if they do, they know how to take care of themselves."

"I would say it isn't necessary, but … I trust you, old man." I thought of his words to me when I had gotten on the plane. "I'm accepting your help."

I heard him exhale heavily. "There's … something else. A video."

"Of?"

"Sydney. When the judge questioned her, it was through video chat."

"Send it over." I grabbed the laptop Wolfe had also given me from my bag. The man was thorough and suspicious, said we couldn't be too careful. I logged in, and as I waited to connect through a secure line, I asked, "Did you send it?"

"Uh …"

"Send it, Wolfe. I'm not asking. I want to see her. I need to." The others in the room needed to, as well. I knew most of them didn't believe what the Alchemists were capable of. I was afraid of what I would see, what they would, and how Sydney would feel about it, but I ignored all that. If it could help save her, it had to be done. I was going to ask Wolfe if she was nude, but of course she wouldn't be. She was talking to a judge.

"Sent," he said.

"Thank you." After the laptop connected to a secure line, I signed into the account Wolfe made me. I opened the new message and waited for the file to download.

Wolfe cleared his throat. "There's something else you should know. We tried to trace the line during the video conference."

"Where'd it lead?" I interrupted, becoming more alert and excited.

"We were abruptly cut off and hacked, so we didn't get an exact location, but Sydney's end wasn't originating in Las Vegas, Nevada, or Salt Lake City. It was New Mexico. There's an Interstate 25 that runs through Las Vegas, New Mexico."

"So we misintererpted Jackie's visions, but at least we're getting closer to the exact location."

"And we'll keep trying," Wolfe said.

"You're the best, old matey."

He grunted. "I better hear from you later, boy, or I'm not helping you again. Understand?"

I frowned and then scoffed. "Of course you'll hear from me. Didn't you know? You're stuck with me. I'm already indebted to you forever for watching Sydney's baby." At everyone's aghast looks, I rolled my eyes. They clearly couldn't count nine months from December. "A car," I clarified to them.

"All right," Wolfe said. "I'm holding you to that. Call me later."

"Will do. Thanks again, Wolfe."

He disconnected. I placed the phone next to the laptop on the coffee table. My God, how long was the video? The file was still downloading, so I met Lissa's stare. "What happened, cousin?"

She sighed. "First, the Alchemists sent us pictures of that Strigoi, saying it was a good thing Jill and all of you came to Court."

I hoped my shock didn't show, and I didn't dare glance at Jill, Neil, or Eddie. We hadn't shared that our suspicions of the Alchemists were working with Strigoi—for this reason exactly. We hadn't been sure, and before alarming everyone else, we were waiting_, hoping,_ to see if they would contact Lissa with the information. If they didn't by the time the week was out, we'd planned on bringing it to her attention.

"I didn't tell them about Wolfe," Lissa continued. "I only told them our guardians would take care of it. They asked if other arrangements needed to be made. I said that we'd let them know." So, she wasn't telling them about the family quorum ruling yet.

I nodded slowly. "Okay, that's good."

"The Alchemists also said they'll send people over as soon as possible to help with the Strigoi vaccine."

"But not Sydney."

Lissa nodded and wrung her hands. "Not Sydney. When I pressed for her, they said she's under evaluation and might not be part of the organization any longer."

If it were possible, my heart would have stopped. Horror and a fear I had never known squeezed my chest in a death grip. Jill scrambled over everyone. "No, no." She straddled me and seized my face. "They're not going to kill her. _They're not._ Marcus said it wasn't their style, remember?"

"B-b-but how c-can he be sure?"

"Because that would be a sin." She read my next thought and answered, "They believe Eddie is an evil creature of the night. He isn't human to them. Sydney is. _It would be a sin_."

I couldn't tell if it was Jill or me shaking, if either one caused the other to, or if we both were. It seemed the whole world quaked, threatening to collapse and bring us down, bury us under.

There was a sudden chime. Jill shifted to sit next to me, wrapping herself and me around each other as she held on. Her voice trembled, and she sounded so far away, but I caught the words. "Plug the laptop into the TV and play the video."

I could feel myself becoming detached, floating or sinking in some weird space that held no meaning, no light.

"Stay with me. You're okay_._ We're okay." The next words were lost to me, tumbling in a vacuous chasm that abruptly sucked in a giant breath.

An echo pierced through. It was fissure of gold and violet, a strain associated with something pure and so beautiful, like a prism of brilliant color, that it tugged at my soul. I looked up at the voice and saw Sydney. Only, she was a shadow of the woman I loved. Rail thin. So hollow, flat, empty—her cheeks, her eyes, her smile.

_"Yes."_ Slow and robotic, Sydney's nod was devoid of emotion. "I've been told that already."

But her voice … there was a hint of her there.

_"Tell me about it. Your childhood,"_ a man's voice said.

_"Well, I imagine it wasn't all that different from others'."_ Sydney's words and tone were almost right. Evasive and cheeky. But her smile was all wrong. I had never seen it before. Not even her Alchemist smile was that emotionless.

_"Please elaborate, Miss Sage,"_ said the man.

_"I—"_ She stopped, but I knew her so well. She was going to say, _I can't_—which wasn't in Sydney's vocabulary. She would say she didn't know and was going to find out. Learning—that was Sydney. She was a do-gooder, a go-getter, capable beyond belief. Not a quitter, an _I can't_ utterer. In another time or place, I might have been more worried about this fact, but she was trying so hard.

I could help but cheer her on. "Come on, baby. Say it. You can."

She didn't.

_"All right,"_ the man intoned.

Seeing a sudden spark in her eyes, I stood up and moved closer. I tilted my head, studying her. She was panicking inside. "What's wrong?" I whispered. I was so in tuned to her body and movements, always had been, that I noticed when she froze completely, a hand on her cheek. Suddenly, it clicked. "The tattoo."

I'd known there was fire in Sydney, but when she slammed into the window, she made me flinch. Gasps came from behind me. And as she continued to bash against the window, she scared me—she made me afraid _for her_. The sounds and curses coming from her mouth terrified me. They were so unlike the calm Sydney I knew. I swiped at my eyes frantically, my vision blurring as I tried to watch her. She tore apart her cell and the bed that hadn't been there before when I had visited in a dream. Stifled sobs rose inside me, around me.

I reached out, trying to calm her. "Stop, Sage. Stop." She was hurting herself.

Miraculously, she did stop—dead center of the room. With her profile toward the camera, head dropped back, she gulped in air. My heart pounded. My chest heaved like hers. There was blood all over her, and I was ripped apart, shredded, at the sight.

Her eyes flicked to the window. I was standing close enough that I saw the shift in those dull brown irises. Confusion, realization, loss, and then slow defeat before they went utterly vacant.

I banged my hands on the screen. "No, no, nononono."

A gut-wrenching cry escaped her, filled with anguish, such agony. I had to cover my ears.

She fell.

So did I.

I moaned, my insides churning. I clawed at my chest. There was a sensation so completely foreign to me it had to come out. I couldn't breathe.

Shouts erupted—around me and from the TV.

"Adrian!"

"My God."

"Stop her!"

"Jill!"

"Someone help me!"

"Adrian!"

_Jill …_ I thought belatedly at that last voice. I had to get to her. To them—her and Sydney.

Alarms sounded, joining the cacophony, coalescing.

"Look at me!"

"Jillian!"

"Adrian!"

"Stop the camera!"

_"Adrian …"_

I answered the moan with one of my own. "Syd …"

"Goddamn it. Look at me!"

_"Adrian …"_

"Shh!"

_"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. God help me."_

"Listen."

_"Adrian. Adrian, I love you …"_

The grip eased. I breathed in.

_"I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry. Adr—"_

I groaned. "Sydney."

Warmth surrounded me. Shadows encircled and encroached. All the while, I imagined the light and love of my life right next to me, breathing in my ear, before it all stopped and oblivion descended.


End file.
